


Even a Miracle Needs a Hand

by Rinsom



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, Depression, Family, Gen, Magic, Seasonal Affective Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinsom/pseuds/Rinsom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America doesn't feel like celebrating Christmas this year. Canada takes it upon himself to bring back his brother's Christmas spirit, but he finds that the job may be too big for one nation... and getting help might take a miracle.</p><p>Although I didn't choose it as the genre, does have a fantasy/magical element starting about 6 chapters in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The early morning sky was overcast, clouds covering any hints of the sun with a thick gray mantel. A cold wind swept through as Alfred stepped out of his car, cutting straight through his thick jacket. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, curled his shoulders forward against it, and began walking towards the sidewalk. 

The snowflakes were falling as far south as Tennessee and moving across his land. If he closed his eyes he could feel the flakes melting on his skin and the ice nipping his fingers and face. It had already been snowing for a few months in Alaska, adding an extra chill to his nights, even when it had been seventy degrees as far north as New York. 

Francis thought it was strange when he wore black leather gloves tugged over his hands during the meetings in early fall and obsessed over hot drinks as early as labor day, breathing in the hot steam like it could unthaw the icy pit forming in his core. He thought Matt understood, since his brother’s borders reached quite a ways above his own, but he wasn’t ever sure. Maybe it was different for him, not having one toe in the arctic and the other in the tropics. 

Alfred could already feel it in his bones. This winter was going to be a cold one. A hard one.

Of course, winter had always been difficult.

The night practically engulfed him it seemed, for months at a time, and he’d never been able to revel in the cold the way his brother could. 

His earliest winter memories were harsh and stinging, at least after losing track of Matt. It wasn’t so bad, when they had each other. But somewhere along the way they’d been separated. 

It had been terrifying, as if a part of him was suddenly missing, but he’d managed. 

Then winter had come. 

He’d learned early on. Winter meant cold, and hunger, and loneliness he just couldn’t get rid of. 

Humans were even more distrustful of the little boy who wouldn’t age when the dark had closed in on them and death was in some cases just as far as the nearest freezing wind or too-thin sheet of ice. 

He was lucky, the times he’d found a friendly animal to share a burrow with for a while, or a family who didn’t mind a small precocious toddler showing up on their doorstep. 

Christmas had been a blessing, the times he’d found a few settlers celebrating it. A better chance of a warm bed and a full stomach. He found people were more likely to take in the strange child on Christmas, if just for the day. 

Christmas meant warmth, and light, and laughing. A blaze of hope in the middle of fear. 

A car horn blared from down the street and startled him back into the present. 

Of course, the problem was that Christmas wasn’t always easy to find. 

And sometimes it was even harder to accept. 

* * *

“Alfred,” Lisa Singleton, the director of the Clarksdale community center, greeted the regular volunteer as he walked into the kitchen carrying a mostly demolished tray of sweet potatoes. She was rubbing her lower back and glaring at a large can of gravy which was sitting on the table. “Could you put this back up there? It got left out and I’m just not feeling up to climbing up there again.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Lisa” he said, setting the tray down and picking up the can, hoisting it up on his hip as he climbed the ladder in front of the tall shelves set up on one side of the room. “Actually kinda surprised this got left over. Last year we ran out, didn’t we?”

“I think we just planned better this year. It certainly hasn’t been any less busy,” she replied with a tired smile. “Had a good turnout this year.” A muscle twinged in her back, reminding her how long she’d been on her feet. “I’m about ready to go home though. My whole body’s aching.” 

Alfred smiled from the top of the ladder, shoving the can of gravy back up on the shelf. “It’s a good ache though, isn’t it?”

She laughed. “That’s one way of looking at it. I’m just happy someone else is covering dinner tonight at home.”

“Your niece?” Alfred asked, studying the cans on the shelves and rearranging a few. 

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, already looking for another line of conversation.

“So where are you going after this, Alfred?” Ellen asked, grinning at him over the tray of leftover green beans she had just walked in with. “Family dinner?” 

Alfred glanced down at the college student from his perch on top of the ladder, shoving a can of tomato sauce over to the right. “Hmm? Nah.”

Mr. Bailey looked up from the pot he was washing over at the sink. “Thought you had brothers. And a roommate. Aren’t doing anything with them?” 

“They’re all out of the country.” Alfred stepped down off of the ladder and brushed the dust off on his pants. “Besides,” he said, looking over with a sideways smile, “We’re not really that sort of family. Ya know? Kind of all doing our own thing.” He turned towards Lisa and, bouncing on the balls of his feet, asked “What you want me to do now? Any more heavy lifting for me?” He grinned, flexing a bicep. 

She glanced at the long table in the middle of the room, filled with trays being brought in to be cleaned, and shook her head. “Just a lot of cleanup at this point I think. If you want to gather up some trash bags and take them out back that would be great.” 

“Sure thing,” he said and gave a lazy salute.

Lisa smiled, watching as Alfred retreated from the kitchen. She waited another moment, to make sure he wouldn’t unexpectedly pop back in the door, before picking up a paper plate off the table and giving Ellen a whack on the shoulder. 

“Hey,” Ellen said, in surprise. “What was that for?” 

“Easy Liz,” Mr. Bailey said, “She didn’t know.” 

“So what’s your excuse Harold?” she asked. The older man blushed to the top of his somewhat balding head. 

“Technically I think you started it this time. But a lot of times that roommate of his is around, isn’t he?” Mr. Bailey said, rinsing off the pot and setting it upside down on the metal counter. “I was hopeful’s all. Thought maybe he just meant no family shindig. If I’d known I would’ve invited him home with me.” 

“Hmph,” Lisa said, “Probably wouldn’t take you up on it anyway. We’ll be lucky if we can foist this off onto him.” She was dumping a spoonful of potatoes onto a take home tray, and reaching for a small container of leftover turkey.

“I stuck my foot in it, didn’t I?” Ellen asked.

Lisa looked at Ellen sympathetically. “Sorry hon,” she said, while glancing around for the green beans, “It’s just that we knew Alfred’s answer before he even said it. He’s been helping out here for ten years. Comes in early, stays all day, goes home late. He’s always a hard worker, but Thanksgiving, Christmas, any family themed event, he just doesn’t stop. Doesn’t take long to figure things out.” She shook her head. “Didn’t even know he had family until a couple of years back.”

“Oh,” Ellen said, looking embarrassed. “Should I-"

Mr. Bailey shook his head. “Don’t say a word. He’ll probably come back in here acting as if nothing happened at all, so just let it drop.”

* * *

Alfred hadn’t even gotten out the door before a local kid, Levi Ramsey, had hitched himself to his side. 

“Hey,” Levi said, “I finally got old sourpuss Collins to break.” He talked a mile a minute while Alfred pulled trash bags out of the cans and tied them. As Alfred walked back through the hallway that led to the dumpsters outside he was right on his heels. 

“So then he just stopped talking, with this goofy look on his face and just turned around,” said Levi, finishing up his story. “Didn’t know what hit him.” 

Alfred laughed and stopped in front of the door to fix his hold on a bag. “Told you that one would get him.” 

“Yeah. It was great seeing him finally crack a smile. Dad said-" 

“Levi?” They heard Mr. Ramsey’s voice echoing through the hall. “Time to go.” His figure appeared in the door, casting a shadow down towards them. 

“Speak of the devil” Levi said. “See ya later.” He waved goodbye to Alfred and ran back the way they’d came.

Alfred breathed in as their voices slowly disappeared, trying his best to ignore the slight ache he felt forming somewhere in his center. He turned back to the trash bags he’d set down and, pushing the double doors open, hauled them outside, shivering a little at the chill in the air. 

It was dark, despite the security light overhead. He knew he should have been used to it by now. He’d been dealing with the seasonal changes his whole life, but he couldn’t help but feel a little lost in it somehow. Even though it was only seven o’clock the lights around the community center seemed to barely penetrate the night. It seemed that, if he wasn’t careful, it would take him, engulfing him and never letting go. A tiredness he hadn’t expected seemed to drag at him.

He winced. It wasn’t even December yet.

Alfred closed his eyes and breathed out, willing all the sudden exhaustion to just leave, then smiled and threw the trash bags into the dumpster.

He could pretend it worked at least. 

Walking back through the main building to the dining room he noticed the building had cleared out considerably. A few volunteers stood around the door, chatting and putting on coats. He greeted them with a smile and a wave as he passed by, taking just a minute to feel the pull of their happiness. He felt lighter, more able to breath, for a brief moment. 

And then it was gone, the ache growing all the stronger in its absence.

“What now, Ms. Lisa?” He asked as he pushed the doors open to the kitchen.

“I think we should be good to go Alfred.” Ms Lisa said, with a smile. “Cleanup’s going pretty quick and I think we’ve got more than enough people still here to finish up.”

“You sure?” Alfred asked, glancing around the room, looking for anything he might be able to help with.

“We got this.” Mr. Bailey looked at him from over at the sink. He’d managed to demolish a bit of the pile, and several more people were lined up now, drying and putting away clean items.

Ms. Lisa nodded, and picked up a plastic shopping bag off of the counter. “And here. Take this with you.”

“I’m not takin-"

“Shush,” Ms. Lisa said, “That’s enough out of you. You’ll take this home or it will go to waste.”

“I know better than that,” he said, looking down at the bag.

“Stop being so difficult. We have plenty this year, and the delivery boxes are already taken care of. You’ve been here all day and I’ve barely seen you stop. And you’re not going to have time to cook much of anything tonight unless it’s been frozen beforehand.” She raised her eyebrows as he started to speak, “Don’t make that face at me Alfred, and don’t even try to lie. I know you’ve got a drive ahead of you.”

Alfred nodded his head. He’d moved out of his apartment close by several years prior, but he’d kept volunteering at this particular center because… well… it was nice, having a solid connection to people for a while. He hadn’t been willing to give it back up so quickly. As a nation it was easy to keep that connection one-way. Knowing them, but not the other way around. Getting too close wasn’t good either. He’d found that out the hard way too many times, but… he looked down at the take home tray in his hands. 

“Thanks Ms. Lisa,” he said, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

She smiled. “Go on now. It’s starting to come down again. Don’t need you getting stuck in the snow.”

“I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.” 

She nodded. “Still no sense in risking your neck if you don’t have to.” She reached up and gave him a hug. “Happy Thanksgiving dear.” 

* * *

By the time Alfred got back to his small house in Virginia the wind had picked up and there was a layer of snow on the grass. He let his coat fall heavily onto the floor in the foyer, and spared just a bit of energy to flip the tv on as he passed through the living room, pulling up the Macy’s parade from the dvr.

The sound of Broadway numbers and gleeful hosts filled the house as he walked through the kitchen, prepared a plate from the food Ms. Lisa had prepared for him, and stuck it in the microwave. His shoulders were aching, more so than he would have expected. He stretched, feeling his muscles pull and his joints pop, and leaned over the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. He stood there, leaned over; his head resting on his arms for a few moments, even after the microwave had gone off. He breathed in deeply then pushed himself back up, shoving a few stray hairs away from his face. 

It was too early for this to be an issue.

But he felt so tired, despite so many of his people already starting black Friday. He made a face, wishing at least that they’d wait a few more hours at least, the restlessness at the back of his mind a sharp contrast to the need to just sleep. 

He felt a tiny amount of curiosity about the sales papers on the kitchen table as he passed by, but ignored it, plopping himself on the couch tiredly. Bright balloons filled the screen as he ate, mindlessly. He could feel a million lights coming on across the country, soft twinkling things unwound and strung up on mostly artificial tree branches. Glitter rained down onto hands and carpets, sticking on the sides of noses and making magical creatures out of children. Snow globes were lifted out of boxes, chiming notes ringing out through rooms, mixing with laughter and the sound of Christmas music. 

If Tony had been there, instead of on some trip to who knows where, he would have already lugged his own boxes of decorations up from the basement but…

His eyes drooped sleepily and he pushed away the sugar and sparkle visions. The warmth and laughter that, for some reason that evening did nothing but hurt.

He’d do it tomorrow, he told himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew flipped through the radio stations as he drove home. It only took him a moment to find what he was looking for and the warm tones of Bing Crosby soon filled his car. He smiled, tapping his fingers lightly on the steering wheel and adding that station to his ongoing mental list of ones that had converted full time to holiday music. This last station was an apparent holdout, waiting until a week into the month. 

As he turned onto his street, he noticed the bright red Santa in Mr. Burns’s front yard, and then the equally large plastic snowman in Mrs. Field’s a few houses down. And so it begins. The neighborhood he’d moved into, just a few years prior, went all out for Christmas, and two of his neighbors in particular took their rivalry to, well not unhealthy levels, but there was a certain amount of heated debate as to who would bring in the most passerby. 

He pulled into his driveway and stepped out of his car, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck against the chill. The past few weeks had been wore than usual, temperature wise, and even he wasn’t completely immune from its effects. The existence of his territories might make the relatively mild winter of Ontario easier to deal with, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still feel cold. The snow crunched under his boots as he walked up to the sidewalk. 

“Matthew,” Melanie, his next door neighbor yelled from her yard. He hadn’t even noticed her out. She jogged over to him, her dark brown curls dancing. “Oh thank god.” 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, looking for any signs of distress. 

“Oh nothing really. Just, Sam’s not going to be home until later this evening and I really need to get a few things out of the garage. I can’t really reach them though, not by myself at least. Could you…”

“Sure,” he said.

She smiled, the relief obvious on her face. “It’s all in the back. Shouldn’t be too hard to dig out, hopefully. I do this every year, stuff everything in the back at the end of the season. Tell myself I’m going to organize the whole thing during the summer and then… well.” She shrugged and led him into a small garage. “And this year I’m getting the whole lot out.” 

“Oh,” he said, “Don’t tell me you’re going to try to compete with that bunch.” He looked over his shoulder with a good natured smile.

“Well… I can’t beat them, that’s clear. But I might as well join in on the fun. Especially with that display you put up last year. You gave them a run for their money I’ll tell you that.” 

Matthew shook his head. “That’s my brother for you.” That first time, four years ago, had been wild. He’d moved late in the year, at the end of October, and hadn’t really even thought about decorating much before Alfred had showed up on the last weekend of November, pickup truck loaded down with holiday detritus. His one-hundred watt smile as he stepped out of the truck had almost been as bright as the lights they’d strung up all over his eaves that day. 

Melanie shoved a plastic tub over towards him, moving aside a wheelbarrow to clear a path to a dark red sleigh. “You know Burnsy and Louise, they always were Christmas nuts, but they didn’t start up that particular tradition until you moved into the neighborhood.” 

He frowned. “Really?” 

“Yup.” She nodded, and then motioned him over. “Here, you pick up this end, I’ll get the back.” They wrestled the monstrous thing out past boxes and gardening supplies, once getting caught on a hose, before finally making their way to the front and out into the yard.

She stretched her back and rubbed her hands on her hips, then laughed at his still bemused look. “Looks like I gave you a shock. We never told you?” 

He shook his head. Count on his brother to jump start a Christmas decorating war.

“Yeah, the next year they got an even earlier start on things. Kept talking to each other, coming up with plans. And then your brother ramped it up again and made it even worse.” She was laughing, at this point, holding her stomach. “I-Instigating those two to make thing even bigger. And you- you didn’t have a clue.” After a moment she wiped at the tears that had formed in her eyes, coughing a little. “Speaking of, isn’t he a little late this year? It’s already the third.” 

Matthew frowned. He hadn’t really thought much of it. He’d been a little busy over the past few weeks, with one thing or another, but now that it was put in front of him it did seem a little odd. His phone had been comparatively silent for the past while too. Fall had been a little hectic, and he’d skipped out on his brother’s Halloween party. The quiet had at first been, admittedly, a bit of a relief. Alfred, when you were on his radar, could be a little intense. 

Not that he usually had to worry about that during winter anyway, Matthew groused. He was used to being forgotten sometimes at meetings, or when his brother got wrapped up in something and forget he existed for a few weeks, but evidently Matthew was too much of a winter wasteland to bother seeing during those months. His brother had made that perfectly clear.

Well… not verbally. 

But the fact that hearing from his brother at all, let along seeing him, was a rarity spoke louder than words.

Matthew smiled, perhaps a little tightly. “He’s probably just busy with work.” 

* * *

“-ones. Mr. Jones,” a voice said. “Mr. Jones!” 

Alfred jolted awake, raising his head up off of the table. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m-" He looked around the room, trying to clear the haze from his mind. “What was that?” 

Susan, his ‘wrangler’ as Alfred liked to call his assistants, was standing over him, concern obvious on her face. “I need the report for the House Committee on Agriculture. It’s due today.” 

“Oh,” he said, looking at his desk. He knew where that was. He’d done that one, right? When had he… “Shitshitshit. It’s-" He shuffled through the stacks of papers, careful to avoid the half filled cups of coffee. When had everything gotten so cluttered? A name suddenly popped out from the mess. “Here!” He said, grabbing it and handing it to her.

She looked it over, probably looking for coffee stains, and then looked at him, shaking her head. “Are you alright? You look a little…” she bent down, hand hovering, threatening, towards his forehead. 

“Yeah,” he said, ducking her scrutiny. “Yeah, just-" He stood up, smoothing down the front of his shirt, which was, admittedly a little more wrinkled than it should have been. 

“Sir,” she said, “Do you think maybe-“

“Aw, come on,” he interrupted. “I’ve told you guys a million times. Stop with the sir stuff. Alfred’s good.”

She sighed, glancing around the office then back at her nation. She smiled, and it was the ‘I’ve had a hard day and I’m running out of patience and you’re getting on my last nerve’ smile. “Sir, may I ask you a question?” 

He smiled leaning up against the desk. “Fire away.”

“When did you leave last night?”

“Um…” he thought, “Six.” 

She nodded. “The thing is, Mr. Carson wanted me to ask, because he had to stop by last night. He left his phone on his desk and evidently he saw you here.”

“Well, it might not have been exactly-"

“At Nine.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Okay.” He nodded his head. “Yeah, I was a little late leaving last night.” 

“And the night before?”

Alfred frowned. “I had some stuff I had to get caught up on.”

“Sir,” she said, sighing, “Mr. Carson was the third person to mention something like that to me over the past few days. You’ve been here late and gotten here early since well before Thanksgiving. And quite frankly there’s no reason for you to be doing this.” She looked around the office, shaking her head. “Whatever it is you’re doing.” 

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, “What if I said it was a top-secret plan for-"

She gave him a ‘look’, stopping him cold. Damn. He glanced out the window. They’d picked a good one this time around. 

“You know,” she said, carrying a few papers over to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. “I could probably get a lot of this straightened up for you if you’d like. Why don’t you take a few-

He shook his head and crossed his arms. “I can’t get behind.” 

“You’re not going to get behind.” The frustration in her voice was nearly palpable. “They don’t give you _that_ much paperwork. Especially not this time of year for whatever reason that is.” She walked back over to the desk and pushing a stack of papers together. “At least let me help you clear this up a bit. What is all of this anyway?” She picked up a paper, and her brows furrowed, in thought. “This probably isn’t even getting discussed until next spring. Why do you have it out now?”

He winced, taking the papers from her and shuffling them absentmindedly, glancing down at them, instead of at her. “Never too early to get a look at this stuff.” He set the papers back down on the desk and picked up another set, flipping through them absentmindedly. “Always a good idea to keep ahead of things, ya know.” And to keep himself busy enough to stay distracted. 

She glanced over his shoulder at a few of the papers. “Alfred!” she admonished, and tried to reach around him for them, to get a better look. 

“See! What I tell ya,” He said, ducking out of her reach with a grin. “The first name is so much better than sir don’t you think?”

“This is a speech for- that’s not til April.” She looked over at his desk, picking up a pile of papers, flipping through them. “Why are you working on any of this stuff now?” 

He turned slightly away, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Sir,” she said. “If I’m not being rude. It’s December. Normally I’d have to drag you into the office. I shouldn’t have to ask you why you’re doing paperwork that shouldn’t even be touched for four months. I should be having to drag you away from the damn Christmas decorations! What are you even doing here?” 

“I’m working.” He looked down at the desk, arranging the pens. 

“Yes,” she muttered. “I see.” She tapped lightly at the folders and papers held in her arms. “Why don’t you go over to the White House and see if they need any help getting ready for tonight.”

“Tonight?” He tried to remember what the date was.

She eyes flew open. “The _tree lighting_. The thing you typically talk about for weeks on end.”

“Oh,” he said, “Yeah, that.” 

“Sir.” She sighed, “Alfred. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” 

“Just fine. Couldn’t be better,” Alfred said, with a grin. “Just forgot the date. That’s all.” 

“Right,” she said. “Look. Why don’t you go over there. Or go home for a while. Just take a break for a few days. I promise I’ll let you know as soon as there’s anything you need to take a look at, okay?”

* * * 

Of course, they didn’t call. 

Still, it took a few days for Alfred to stop looking at his phone. The first day he kept it beside him the whole time and compulsively (obsessively) checked his email, despite the fact that he really had taken care of everything he could, long before they’d pretty much ordered him out of the office. 

Not that his presence was really all that important anyway, he couldn’t help but think. 

He’d kept himself busy at first, trying to enjoy his ‘vacation’. Caught up on a few shows he’d missed. Got a few hours of video games in. 

If only it hadn’t been so quiet. 

He’d never really realized how used to Tony’s presence he was until the alien disappeared on him. Whale was great of course, but he couldn’t talk. And the unicorn was always friendly. But there was something about a companion you weren’t ever completely certain was _there_ …

Well. It didn’t do much for making one feel not alone. 

Alfred let his head flop backwards on the couch and dropped the video game controller onto his lap. He squeezed his eyes shut, laying his arm across them. His head ached. 

Fuck. His whole body ached. 

His phone beeped from across the living room and his eyes opened for a second, before he closed them again.

Low battery.

He lowered his arm and stared at the phone. 

A few years prior he’d quit using the landline, when his cordless had suddenly crapped out.

He lay over sideways on the couch, bringing his legs up and letting the controller fall with a clatter to the floor. The light on the phone flashed red. 

It wasn’t like anyone was going to be calling him anyway.

He’d been through this too many years to think any differently.

Alfred made up for everyone else’s silence by being as vocal as he could the rest of the year, not daring to wait for them to come to him. Of course, that was probably part of the reason why no one called him. When you finally get a reprieve you take it. 

It was probably a cycle of some sort, but the alternative…

He curled up tighter into himself. Watched as the light faded to black, shut his eyes, and fell along with it. 

* * *

The boxes of Christmas decorations filled a full quarter of Matthew’s basement. Just standing in front of them and thinking about having to carry them upstairs made his back hurt. It was something he tended to ignore the rest of the year, only to step up to the task at the beginning of December, wondering why in the hell he kept it all. One day he’d have to get rid of some of it. Of course that would mean explaining to his brother where the stuff had gone, and having to deal with the pout. In the small chance that he was lucky Alfred wouldn’t actually _say_ anything about the housecleaning job, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d have to deal with the pout for hours afterwards. Combined with the time and frustration involved in sorting through the stuff, it just wasn’t worth it. 

He went through this every year, but normally he had Alfred there grinning from ear to ear and pulling items from boxes before they could even get them upstairs, making the process take ten times as long as it reasonably should. He’d found through the years that, despite his grumbling, he’d sometimes barely noticed the time passing. 

Matthew couldn’t help but feel a little bitter, standing alone in front of that massive wall of stored Christmas cheer. 

When the phone rang upstairs he could have cried with relief. 

Unfortunately he’d already started taking down the wall, and was standing behind part of it. He began to push away the boxes he’d pulled from the top, and as the phone continued to ring he climbed over a few more and finally ran up the stairs. As he turned the corner into the kitchen he saw Kumajorga standing on a stool against the wall, phone up to his ear.

“Kumakiko,” Matthew scolded, a little out of breath. “You’re not suppo-"

“You were taking too long. It’s the tuna one.” 

Tuna?

“Hello?” He gulped in some air.

“Canada-san. This isn’t a bad time, is it?” Tuna… sushi. He glanced over at Kumakiko, who was trying to climb off of the stool, pressed the phone between his shoulder and ear and sat the bear down on the floor.

“Hi Japan. No problem. Just digging out some decorations. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you had heard from America-san recently.”

Matthew blinked, the instinctual dread from someone asking him about his brother rising up in his gut. He smiled and tried to sound as calm as possible. “No. I’m sorry Japan, but I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“I see. So he hasn’t sent you an invitation yet either.” 

“Invitation?” Matthew frowned and pushed a bit of hair out of his face. 

“Yes. America-san’s holiday party. Normally by now I would have received it. I thought perhaps it had gotten lost in the mail, but I did not want to be presumptuous.”

“No.” Matthew shook his head. “I mean. I think you’re one of the people he makes sure to invite first. So I don’t know. Have you called him?” He walked over to the small pile of mail on his table, shifting through it. A few bills, a Christmas card, but nothing from an address in the U.S.

“I have, but I haven’t been able to reach him. I was hoping you would have spoken with him, since he is your brother.”

“I haven’t heard from him either Japan.” He sat the envelopes back down on the table. “Honestly he normally just slips me the party details when he comes by to visit, but he hasn’t shown up lately. Have you asked anyone else?”

“I may have mentioned it to Italy-san, although that was a week ago, before I really expected to hear anything.” 

“Right. I’ll give my brother a call in a bit. See if I can reach him. If that doesn’t work I’ll call around a bit, see if anyone else has heard anything.”

Matthew hung up the phone and dialed Alfred’s number. It went to voicemail. Despite logic, he tried again a few minutes later, that time leaving a message.

He managed to get in touch with nearly half of Europe and a portion of Asia before anxiety started to set in. 

His brother had held a Christmas party every year for almost half a century, and was an overly excitable puppy. He’d usually be sick of hearing about the thing by now. Initially he’d thought his brother was just staying mum about it. Then for the past week or so he’d thought, a little bitterly, that maybe he’d just picked someone else’s ear to wear out that year. 

He tried again the next day, leaving another message on his brother’s voice mail and calling another group of nations, none of which had heard a thing from him. 

Four days later he sat on the sofa running his fingers through Kumakachi’s fur nervously, staring at the phone which had proven itself utterly useless.

The boxes were still piled, mostly untouched, in the basement.

* * *

Alfred groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the afternoon sunlight. His head swam as he sat up, slowly and glanced over at the clock, just to be sure. Yeah, he’d slept in.

Again. 

He sighed, pulling his fingers through his hair, pressing down into his temples and the ridges on his skull. It was one o’clock. He’d been asleep for at least twelve hours, so why did he feel like he could sleep for another twelve more? 

He should get up. Try to get something done at least. He knew, from years of experience, if he could get moving it would clear the cobwebs, at least to some extent. He’d have a few good hours before the exhaustion hit in full force again. 

His traitorous mind latched onto the image of a bright star and colored lights before he could shove it away with as much force as he could muster. He jerked the blankets up around his shoulders again. 

Not that. 

He scrubbed at his face, trying to force the ache in his chest away, and reached for his phone. At least he could say he’d done something over the past day or so, even if it was just managing to charge it. Even that though, taking those few extra steps towards the phone instead of falling straight back into bed, had seemed to take too much effort. 

It rang, giving him a jolt of surprise, just a moment after picking it up.

“H-" he cleared his throat. Damn it, why did it sound so rough? “Hello?” 

“Al?” his brother said.

“Matt?” He said, then shook his head. “Hey. What’s up? How ya-"

“Where have you been?” 

Alfred blinked. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. “Around,” he said, slowly. “I mean, here, but-” 

“Alfred. I’ve called about five times over the last couple of days. I called your office and they said you hadn’t been in for at least a week.”

“You have?” He blinked. 

Matthew sighed audibly. “Yes. I have. I left messages. What’s been going on?” 

“Nothing…” Alfred pulled himself back up onto the bed, curled his legs up against his chest and picking at a string on the quilt. “Just been kinda… busy.” He winced, looking down at the stack of dishes in the corner he’d most definitely not touched. “And had some issues with my phone,” he added. Letting it go uncharged for half a week counted as issues. 

“Oh. Okay. Why didn’t you just let your secretary know? I mean,” and there was a pause, “They didn’t seem _too_ concerned, but…” 

Alfred lay back down, rolling to the side. Didn’t _that_ just make him feel needed. He laughed, “Yeah. Just me playing hooky for a few days. Things have been kinda quiet and stuff so…”

“I thought you said you’d been busy?” 

“Well… Yeah,” Alfred cursed silently to himself, “But just with other stuff. Taking care of some shit here at the house, ya know?” 

“Yeah. Hang on just a minute Al. I’ve gotta take a-" And Alfred could here the clicking of the turn signal. 

“Are you driving?” He said. 

“Yeah. About that.” Matt said, after a moment. “You _are_ at home right?”

Alfred’s eyes widened. “Uh…” 

“Sorry, Al. I hate to just drop in and stuff, but I haven’t been able to reach you.” His brother sounded sheepish, and there was that hint of apology in his voice. “And no one from the government could either. So I thought… it’s been a while since I saw you. Since the last world meeting, wasn’t it? I mean, they called off the one this fall, and the time before that was so hectic. I saw you at our birthday thing, but…” He sighed. “I was a little worried.” 

“Hey,” he said, trying to muster up the necessary energy. “No need to worry about me. I’m the hero. I can handle anything.” Alfred sat up, looking around the disaster area he called a room. The rest of the house had to be almost as bad. The kitchen probably worse. “That is, if there was anything to handle.” He laughed. “Which there’s not. Where are you anyway?” 

“I’ll be there in probably… maybe forty-five minutes. Probably less.” The phone nearly fell out of Alfred’s hand, and he was standing up now, ignoring the tiredness hanging onto his limbs. “Sorry. But you weren’t answering your phone, and-"

“Hey,” Alfred said, walking through the house, grimacing at the amount of junk that was on the floor. “It’s not a problem man. Always up for seeing you, bro.” And there was no untruths there to hide. None. But Matt had _shitty_ timing. “Um…” He bit his lower lip, trying to think past the panic. “You want to meet me and get something to eat?” 

“I’d be fine with getting something out, but could I maybe drop my stuff off first? It’s been-"

“A heck of a drive,” Alfred sighed, “Yeah. No, come on here first and then we’ll figure something out. See ya when you get here.”

He disconnected the call, after hearing his brother’s reply and glanced about the room, wondering exactly how much of the junk he could stuff in his closet. 

* * *

Matthew told himself that he’d been overreacting, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled into his brother’s driveway. He did a quick mental check, trying to remember if Alfred had mentioned moving recently.

But no. There was his brother’s car in the driveway.

What were missing were any other signs of him. The Christmas lights, normally strung across every logical, and sometimes completely illogical, surface of his brother’s house, were gone. The trees were bare as well. The waving snowman, a regular sentry at his brother’s front door for almost thirty years was nowhere to be seen. 

Last year Alfred had called him a day or so before Christmas, absolutely bursting with ideas for the giant candy canes and lollipops he’d picked up from some store or another. He’d spent at least an hour talking his ear off about all the things he was going to do this year. 

They were nowhere to be seen. 

In fact, there was no sign of Christmas whatsoever, and Alfred’s house would normally give anyone’s decorations a run for their money. 

He stepped away from his car and walked up the pathway, which should have been lined with lights, up to the front porch. The curtains were drawn shut. Hesitantly, he raised his hand to the door and knocked, then stepped away, awaiting the normal exuberant greeting. Or maybe just hoping for it. 

It never came.

Matthew glanced back at the driveway again, despite knowing his brother’s car was still there. He crossed his arms, unable to shake the feeling of apprehension.

He knocked again and was getting ready to just pull his phone out and call Alfred’s, when he heard footsteps in the hall approaching the door. It opened slowly, compared to what he was anticipating. 

“Hey,” Alfred said. 

“You okay?” He said, without thinking, and bit his lip. It wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, but it was the obvious question. Alfred was too pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was messy, and maybe just a bit oily, like he hadn’t washed it in a couple of days. Despite it being well after noon he was dressed in pajamas. 

“Huh?” his brother asked, but then after a minute, realization dawned on him. “Oh. Yeah.” His face brightened in a mockery of his usual expression. He opened the door wide. “Yeah, I’m great.” 

Matthew glanced behind his brother, into the house. It was dark, no lights to be seen. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you earlier?” 

“Uh…” his brother said again, rubbing his eyes, tiredly. “Yeah. Kinda.” He laughed loudly, and once again Matthew had to stop himself from wincing, because he could hear the tension behind it. “Lately they’ve- they’d been having me work late. Weird hours and junk. Sleep schedules all out of whack.” 

Matthew had his doubts, but he wasn’t going to press it. 

“So you comin’ in or you gonna stand there all day?” Alfred moved out of the door enough to let Matthew inside. 

Matthew stepped past him. He watched the light dim as Alfred shut the door, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the dark; just enough shown through the windows above and beside the door to just illuminate the hallway. “Where’s your Christmas stuff?”

“Hmm?” Alfred asked, shoving an item or two out of the way as they went through the darkened house. He turned around and for just a moment his expression was stormy, before straightening back into that infuriating mimic of his normal grin. “Oh, just haven’t really gotten around to it yet. Stuff coming up and all, ya know.” 

“Thought you said you were playing hooky,” Matthew said, trying to sound teasing. 

Alfred shrugged and picked up a pile of laundry off of the couch. “Go ahead and sit, Matt. Don’t mind the mess, I’ve just been kinda-" and he frowned, turning around to set the pile aside. 

“Actually, you mind if I open the curtains? It’s a little dark in here.” 

Alfred looked towards them, as if he hadn’t even realized they’d been closed. “Yeah.” He waved a hand towards them. “Knock yourself out.” 

Matthew walked over to the window, stepping over a small pile of mail that had fallen off the coffee table along the way, and pulled the curtains aside, fixing them on either side before turning back around to face his brother. 

He struggled to fix a smile onto his face and not say anything. His brother’s cleaning wasn’t impeccable by any means, but he was normally neat enough. Now however… it looked like the living room hadn’t been cleaned in at least a month. Aside from the obviously wrinkled pile of laundry now sitting on a chair in the corner, there were also several pizza boxes on the floor, mail and papers lying strewn about, and toppled-over stacks of movies and games. Not to mention the leaves tracked across the room.

His brother, now sitting forward on the couch, his shoulders slumped, looked in about as bad of a state. 

Alfred glanced up at him, squinted, and turned away again. Matthew realized after a second that he was standing in front of the light and, taking pity on him, walked over to the couch. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down.

“Nothing.” But Alfred refused to look at him. 

Matthew leaned in a bit, tilting his head. “Al,” he said, softly, “You’re a horrible liar.” 

Alfred sat back crossing his arms. “Yeah well. Maybe you’re a cruddy guest. Coming in and-"

“Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Alfred said, his hand reaching out to stop his brother, even though Matthew hadn’t even started to move. He froze, then leaned back into the couch again, crossing his arms.

“So tell me what’s wrong.” 

Alfred shrugged. “Just been kinda under the weather, you know. Probably caught a bug or something.” 

“And then you had phone problems…” 

“Yeah!” Alfred nodded. “Exactly.” 

“Mmm…” Those were good explanations. There was a part of him that wanted to just accept them. The part of him that liked to hang onto past hurts and store them like ammunition was waiting to add a new assortment to his stock from January through March. Matthew felt the sting of the anticipated slight even as looked at his brother’s defeated appearance.

He looked over at the window, where the tree _should_ have been sitting. 

“You know, I still haven’t gotten my decorations up yet,” he said, shifting a little on the couch. “And the neighbors are all really trying to outdo each other this year.” 

“Yeah?” Alfred asked, scooting further down into the couch, something in his expression dulling.

Matthew frowned, not expecting that reaction.

“Yeah. Someone normally comes up to help me,” he said, letting a bit of his irritation leak through. “And I’m really looking like the odd person out right now. Thing is though, to keep up with them it’s really going to take more than one person…”

Alfred’s face tightened. “You’ve got Kuma don’t you?”

“You really think he’s going to be that much of a help? He’s kind of too short to help with the lights, and he’s not exactly got the most muscle volume.”

Alfred turned his head, determinedly _not_ looking at him. 

Matthew clenched his teeth. The whole thing was setting off alarm bells. He should never have to coerce Al into helping him with Christmas decorations. “Why don’t you come up for a bit? Help me with the lights and stuff. The way your office talked you’ve got some time off, and it _has_ been too long since we’ve hung out.” Then, softening both his voice and expression, he added, “It gets a little lonely up there sometimes.” 

Alfred glanced back towards him, and his shoulders were loosening. 

Got him.


	3. Chapter 3

“Can we put it on another station?” Alfred asked, after they’d been on the road for a while. It was the most he’d said all morning. 

“Sure. Whatever.” And he switched off the Christmas themed radio station he’d made sure to find on the way down. Alfred didn’t seem that interested in the radio though, and leaned back in the seat. Of course, he didn’t seem to be very interested in _anything_. 

The evening before, Matthew had managed to tidy up the kitchen a little after pushing his brother into the shower. It had looked worse than the living room, although the worst of it was all the takeout boxes and plates piled in the sink. Judging by that and the state of his fridge, his brother hadn’t actually cooked anything in a while. Another mark on the ‘something’s not right’ list. Al wasn’t anything like Francis when it came to food, but he _did_ like to cook. Especially his hamburgers. The times he’d gotten sat down to try out one of his brothers experiments… he both looked forward to and feared those moments. It didn’t look like he’d be having one during his visit, Matthew had thought, feeling strangely sad about it. 

The evening had been a little too quiet for Matthew’s comfort, who was used to Alfred bouncing around like a keyed up five year old when he came to visit, showing him his new video games, or a new project he was working on out in the workshop. Instead they’d put a movie in and ordered delivery pizza. Alfred had decided that sounded better than going out to McDonald’s like Matthew had suggested. 

“Man, you just got here. No need to go back out or anything.” 

Matthew would have ignored it if he hadn’t seen the quick look of dread flash across his brother’s face, and the subsequent relief when Matthew had agreed.

Alfred had fallen asleep on the couch, leaned up against him, halfway through the second movie. Matthew had let the movie run through anyway, despite having seen it several times before. The weight at his side was uncomfortable, not for any physical reasons, but because his brother’s _sleep_ was so heavy. He’d pulled a quilt off the side of the couch and draped it across the two of them, watching tv while his brother slept as if he hadn’t managed to close his eyes in over a week.

Twilight was just beginning to peak through the night when they left Al’s house that morning and the land stretched in front of them darkly, only just illuminated by the headlights. Alfred stayed turned towards the window, staring out through the occasional snowfall at the dawning light.

“Hey Matt,” Alfred said, out of the silence. 

“Yeah?” 

“This isn’t really about you needing help with the decorations, is it?”

Matthew winced. “Well…” he said, “I do need help. I’m not lying. And you _didn’t_ come up to help this year. I’ve gotten used to having the extra hands.” He glanced over at his brother. 

Alfred was still staring out the window, his arms crossed. 

“And Japan called me a few days ago. He was wondering about the Christmas party. He called you, but you were MIA, so…” 

Alfred winced. “Yeah, I should have let people know probably.”

“So you’re just canceling it?” 

“Can’t really cancel something before you announce it, can you?” 

“I can’t even remember when you started having the parties Al. You have it every year. At this point it’s canceling.” 

Alfred just pulled himself in tighter, curling a little towards the window. 

“Any reason in particular?” Matthew asked. 

For a moment the only sound was a corny Christmas-themed advertisement coming from the radio. Alfred glared at it, but didn’t move to switch the station. “I’m just not really feeling Christmas this year, ya know?” 

Later he’d blame the hour of morning and the relative lack of sleep, haven just driven over eight hours the day before. Perhaps temporary insanity. Or maybe it was the tired bitterness in Alfred’s voice. Whatever the reason, his mouth opened, before he could stop himself. “I bet I could get you into the Christmas spirit.” 

Alfred just looked at him as if he’d just been told to take a dose of cod liver oil. To be fair though, Matthew was making the mental equivalent. 

“I see what you’re doing Matt. And you know you really don’t have to.” 

Matthew looked forward, out at the snow. It had just begun to fall in tiny flakes when they’d left, but was now starting to collect in a scant amount of white on the grassy edge of the highway. Alfred had never liked the snow as much as he had, but he’d always loved Christmas. Matthew shook his head, and smiled. “I’ve never known you to ignore a bet.”

Alfred frowned, sank lower down in the seat and propped his sock feet up on the edge of the dashboard. He picked at a fraying hole in his jeans, right above his knee. “And if you can’t?”

Matthew shrugged. “I guess I can’t.” 

“That’s not how bets work, Matt.” 

And Matthew thought that was that. Until Alfred asked a few minutes later, “We doing this all the way to Christmas?”

Matthew’s eyebrows raised. “Well it’s a Christmas bet, isn’t it?”

Alfred shrugged, played with the dial on the radio for a minute, before putting it right back on the same station. He leaned back against the seat again, and turned back towards the window. “So this a long distance deal or you kidnapping me ‘til after the twenty-fifth?” 

“Letting you go home would be cutting my own hamstring, wouldn’t it?” He turned to grin at his brother. His face fell when he was met with silence and the back of Alfred’s head. 

Matthew wished he could just see his brother’s face. “We don’t have to, you know.” 

“Naw. It’s fine,” Alfred said, quietly. “We’ll go for it.” 

Alfred still hadn’t turned back towards him, and had pulled himself into a ball of sorts. His head leaning against the seat back. He was quiet, his breathes a whisper. 

For a moment, Matthew assumed his brother was asleep and he focused his eyes back on the road. 

Matthew just barely heard his brother say, under his breath, “Just don’t see what good it’ll do.” 

* * *

The cold had been a shock, hitting him like an ice block when he’d stepped out of the car in front of Matt’s house. Even now, sitting on the bed in his brother’s spare bedroom, he could feel it clinging on and was left wondering, as he’d been doing since the day before, if this whole thing had been a mistake. 

Matthew meant well. He had to keep telling himself that. 

He should feel happy about it. 

Maybe it would be easier if Matt would quit looking at him like he was bleeding out or something. His brother had tried to hide it, brightening up as soon as he noticed Alfred looking, but the occasional uneasy glances were going to get old soon. 

He fell back on the bed with a thump, his arm hitting the suitcase which was still sitting open beside him. He’d stopped unpacking when he’d seen the Christmas card he’d thrown in last night. 

His Christmas tradition. 

Alfred didn’t have to look at it to know its contents. There was one solitary word written at the top left side. It was as far as he’d managed to get that year. 

Several of its over two-hundred brothers and sisters, first letters and then cards, had stopped with that one single word. Some of those still made it into the box stored away on the top shelf of his closet. They were more likely to survive than the rambling multi-page monstrosities he’d created some years. 

But some of said monstrosities had actually gotten a stamp before being burnt. 

Somehow he doubted this year’s would be finished, let alone be the one to finally be sent. 

Even if, due to his brother’s scheme, this year’s might be the one to actually have a hope of being opened.

* * *

Matthew sat down with a notebook and a pencil at the kitchen table, letting the Christmas carol flowing from the stereo wash softly over him. 

Alfred was still in the bedroom. He’d been there since they’d arrived earlier that afternoon. It had been several hours and Matthew hadn’t heard a peep out of him. 

Normally his brother would be wrestling with Kumajuko, or doing something equally loud. Having him over, yet being completely unable to tell he was there at all was strange. 

Unnerving.

After an hour or so of the disquieting silence he’d found himself making extra noise just to put himself at ease. He decided to turn on the radio before he broke something. 

He tapped the pencil eraser against the table and looked down at the work in front of him. The words ‘Operation Christmas Cheer’ were written across the top of the sheet of paper, and below it a set of bullets scribbled down the page.

With the exception of his brother’s party and yearly visit to decorate, Christmas was ordinarily a quiet affair for him. The standard music and movies, a few special recipes, and a nice bit of downtime in front of the fireplace. He had a feeling that wouldn’t quite cut it though. He’d be going all out this year. 

Caroling was a possibility. And it would be easy to take a quick peak inwardly to see which houses would be the most open to a few guys singing at their front door. Maybe he could even get Al to take that extra guitar Matt had stored away for him. 

He’d already decided against putting up the fake tree that year. It had to be a real one and one large enough for his brother to get excited about. They’d even pick their own. Actually go out somewhere and chop one down. 

And food. He had a collection of recipes from holiday cookie swaps, along with the large number of cookbooks Francis had gifted him over the years in an attempt to pull him into the kitchen and counteract any culinary influences Arthur might have had over him. 

Any of those, individually should work. All of them put together would be fail-proof. He’d have Alfred back to usual in no time at all. He hoped.

He looked back over the list again, saying a small prayer.

First off, the lights. 

* * *

“I think we’ve just about got everything, don’t you?” 

“God Matt. If we don’t…" Alfred wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a visible swipe of dirt. 

Matthew bit his lip. The living room was nearly wall to wall with boxes. Not that that was his fault to begin with, considering Alfred had brought a good portion of them over the years. As if anyone would be able to tell at that point. Despite Alfred’s lack of energy, compared to usual, it had still taken them a far shorter amount of time to get everything upstairs. He hadn’t peaked curiously into the boxes at any point, hadn’t pulled anything out and gushed over it sharing stories and memories. The boxes had been brought up and laid aside, unopened. 

He pursed his lips, watching his brother look around at the boxes with disinterest. The box at his feet was cardboard and the tape closing it had come loose at some point. A bit of glitter caught the light and he remembered what was just inside. He bent down, and lifted the flaps away, revealing a large Santa Claus, carrying a sack of various glittering ornaments and toys in its velvet sack. 

“Hey, Al,” He said, lifting it up and brushing a small sparkling piece of green off its fluffy white beard. “Remember picking this up a few years ago? It was right after that parade we went to.” 

“Hmm?” Alfred looked up from his seat on the carpet. “The one where we got caught in that freezing rain and the wipers froze stuck?” 

Matthew shivered. That had been a cold Saturday alright. They’d had to stand in the stuff for several minutes trying to get the windshield wipers to start working again. “I was thinking more about the parade itself… and the hot chocolate after.” 

Perhaps things weren’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. 

He sat the Santa back in the box and stood up, stepping towards the boxes holding the outdoor decorations. He lifted the one labeled ‘lights- led' and smiled. “Come on,” he said, already walking towards the front door. “These aren’t going to hang themselves.” 

Alfred muttered something behind him that he couldn’t quite hear. 

“What was that?” 

“Didn’t say anything.” 

* * *

“You ready with the next set?” Matthew asked, glancing down from the top of the ladder.

Alfred glared up at him. A tangled cord of lights was coiled around his ankles, a giant tangle hanging off his right arm and another smaller one off his left. “What do you think?”

“Not my fault you’re being slow.” 

“And it’s my fault someone can’t wind a cord the right way?”

“Didn’t know there was a ‘right’ way to wind a cord. You’ll have to educate me later when you get lose from all those.” He smiled. “Or maybe I’ll just leave you in the front yard. Plug those in and you’d be a pretty nice substitute for the tree that got cut down this summer.” 

Alfred huffed and tried to step out of the pile. Unfortunately he also raised his left arm at the same, which pulled the tangle tight around his ankles. He toppled forward into the snow with a yelp. 

“Al?” Matthew called, already moving down the ladder. “You alright?” 

“Fine,” he said without raising his face from the snow. His words were muffled. “Think I’ll just lay here and freeze.” 

“Need some help?”

Matthew turned his head at the familiar voice. His neighbor, Mr. Burns was jogging down the sidewalk towards them. 

“I’m good.” Alfred was sitting back up, rubbing his face with his equally snowy coat sleeves and grimacing. 

Matthew stepped onto the ground and unwrapped his scarf, reaching it to his brother, who took it gratefully.

“I see you’re finally getting around to putting something up at least,” Mr. Burns said, standing back to examine the lights they’d gotten up so far. “Thought you were going to just be a scrooge this year and not decorate at all.”

“I was waiting for Al here. Needed a bit of help.” He reached down to give his brother a hand up and stopped midway. Alfred was already climbing to his feet, wearing his normal bright expression. 

“Yeah, can’t do a thing without me. He was so desperate he came down south and hauled me up here, hogtied with Christmas lights. Just now getting loose.” 

Matthew couldn’t help but stare. Alfred didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy chatting up Mr. Burns about the giant snowman that was sitting in his front yard.

“See it looks great up here, cause you guys got the real white stuff. Put something up down around DC it would just look weird unless I put down a layer of cotton batting on the grass.” And he laughed. That bright, loud thing Matthew was so used to and had taken for granted… except…

There was something off about it. Tense and just a little too shrill.

“Yeah. We don’t have a guarantee of a white Christmas up here, but it’s still a better chance than you’ve got. Now, that piece I got a couple of years ago and I wasn’t sure about putting him up this year, but then with the contest and all.” Mr. Burns sent a quick glance towards Matthew. “Figured I’d pull out all the stops.” 

“Contest?” Alfred asked. 

“Yeah. That’s probably part of the reason Matthew was so insistent on having you up here this year. He’ll need the help if he’s not going to get slaughtered.” 

“Actually, Matt didn’t say a thing about the contest.” Alfred glanced over at him, questioningly.

“Oh yeah. We thought, since me and Louise already have an unofficial one going on we might as well make it official. Give the rest of the neighborhood a shot too. Not that it’ll make much of a difference of course.”

Matthew smiled. Mr. Burns was playing it up well. He hadn’t given a single hint about Matthew coming to him with the idea in the first place just that morning. 

“We’ll see about that,” Alfred replied, grinning. The expression was brittle, at least compared to Alfred’s normal smile. Not that Mr. Burns would be able to tell. It was convincing enough. But Matthew had over three hundred years of experience. He knew Alfred’s real smile. 

This one just looked wrong.

A few minutes later, when Mr. Burns finally walked away, Alfred bent down and picked up the lights from the ground, knocking some of the snow off of them. He stopped after a moment, head still bowed, hands gripping the cord. 

Then Alfred shook his shoulders out and continued winding the cord.

“Al?” Matthew said, stepping forward to help. With what, he wasn’t certain.

“How about we take a break for a bit.” Alfred looked up at him, and it was the most unshuttered expression Matthew had seen in days. His voice was tight and there were traces of that too tight smile still stuck on his face. It hurt just too look at it. 

“Yeah, Al. That’s fine.” 

* * *

They’d eventually got around to the decorations again that evening, after Alfred had retreated to the bedroom for several hours. 

Matthew had kept the Christmas music on while they unpacked the boxes, despite Alfred’s irritable glances towards the stereo. Matthew had thought, for a time, that it was going well. His brother hadn’t been smiling, but he wasn’t complaining either. And then he’d turned around to ask Alfred about something, only to see him pulling a snow globe reverently out of a box. The tinkling notes drifted out over the music as it sat in Alfred’s hands. 

Inside were three figures. A snowman in the center, with a small boy and larger figure on either side. Alfred sat down on the floor, brushing a bit of styrofoam off the glass sphere. 

He’d seen Alfred buy it years ago. Had watched the quiet awe spread across Alfred’s face as he picked it up off the shelf, holding it in his hands with the same reverent touches. It had cast a spell over his brother, as he’d tipped it over once, letting the snow collect in the top and then fall back down on the three figures. Alfred hadn’t even looked at the price tag before walking straight up to the counter with the snow globe pressed against his chest. 

When, and why, it had shown up in Matthew’s Christmas things he couldn’t say. 

And then, without a word, Alfred’s face closed off again, and he pushed it back into the box, which he nudged aside with his foot. 

They’d called it quits for the day afterward.

Dinner had been quiet that evening, in a way that was unnatural for them. Alfred had picked at his food, pushing it around on his plate more than actually eating, then, with a delicate smile that never reached his eyes, he’d glanced over at Matthew and stood up from the table, walking slowly towards the living room. Matthew had watched him go, following the defeated gait with tightly held restraint, then picked up the plates, his own only slightly more empty than Alfred’s, and set them on the counter. He’d made an effort to focus on cleaning up, on tidying and straightening. On fixing what he could, because he was certainly doing a bang up job so far, wasn’t he?

He got lost in the work somehow, filtering his frustration through soap and moving hands, and so wasn’t expecting, almost a half an hour later, as he stepped out of the kitchen, to find Alfred lying on the couch. The room was dark and silent, the TV untouched.

The light was just barely streaming in, the last fading rays of the cold December sky painting pinks and reds across Alfred’s legs, stretching up his body and just barely gracing his face, as if the exhausted, half lidded gaze was enough to chase off even the sun.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms tiredly against the chill, and watched the shrinking glow retreat across Alfred’s form. 

It struck him then, Alfred’s reaction to his neighbor. That instant cheer etched on his face that was so false and wrong. 

Maybe, Matthew thought, he should be honored. That he was the one who got to see him like this. Had to see him like this. This part of his brother that he was apparently privy to.   
The knowledge brought him no satisfaction.

* * *

That night, far from Canada, across the Atlantic Ocean, Arthur dreamed about something he hadn’t dared even think about in several centuries. 

The amount of times he had found his way to the North American colonies during winter could probably be counted on one hand. Well… before the war that is. But he never consciously counted those, wishing he could relegate them to the trash bin of history.

On one of those occasions it had snowed overnight and a layer of the white stuff had lay softly on the ground when they’d awoke the next morning. It had been probably in the early 1700s, and Alfred had still been a very small tyke. The boy had been a little listless that trip, and Arthur had thought perhaps he might have been coming down with something, so his reaction had been to keep him inside where it was nice and warm. But Alfred had ran through the house that morning, jumping up onto the bed where Arthur sat, grin as wide as he’d ever seen, and Arthur had given in. 

He’d always been weak to that smile. 

It hadn’t been a heavy snow at all and it was rather dry. Too dry to be good snowman snow at the very least. 

But they’d gone out, and with a few stones and twigs and a few scraps of fabric from the rag pile they’d made a halfway respectable snowman he thought. He’d frowned initially at the lopsided results. But then Alfred had looked at him with the proudest smile and had run up and hugged his leg.

He’d looked at the crooked figure again with fresh eyes.

That was the most wonderful snowman Arthur had ever had a hand in making. 

* * *

Over the next few days Matthew thought that, maybe, his brother was starting to come around. 

The next day was one of those times, despite the utterly stormy expression Alfred wore that morning at breakfast.

Matthew still had to physically drag him out of the house, and he walked sullenly around the grocery store behind him, hands stuck in his pockets. 

But then he’d stopped, almost without Matthew noticing, to greet the bell ringer at the front of the store. 

And then they’d gone the mall and Alfred had looked like he was ready to murder someone. 

Only an hour later, Matthew turned around to find him kneeling down in front of a tearful little girl, looking tired but sharing a small smile and a tissue out of his pocket. Together they walked her to a security guard and waited until her parents, frantic and relieved showed up ten minutes later. 

Alfred stared for just a little longer at the lights on the way home. A smile never quite touched his face, but there was something, he wanted to think, that might lead to one. Any second. If he could just keep Alfred’s eyes open like that. Maybe then his brother could find whatever it is he was looking for. 

* * *

The knock on the door was enough to jolt Alfred awake, but he rolled over, ignoring it and stifling his frustrated groan. 

Maybe if he pretended to be asleep Matt would just go away. Not that that had actually worked. He’d been at his brother’s house for three days and it hadn’t fooled Matt once. After he’d slept in the first day Matthew had taken it upon himself to give him a wakeup call, cheerfully knocking on his door for a solid two minutes. The first time he hadn’t thought to lock the door so he’d also had to deal with a grumpy polar bear, who’d been refused breakfast until everyone was awake to eat it. He’d woken up to Kuma sitting on his stomach, rapping sharply on his head. 

“Al? You awake yet?” His brother said. “I thought maybe we could go out. It snowed a little more last night and I know a hill. Thought we could take the sleds out.”

Alfred buried his head under the pillow, gritting his teeth. His brother was being chipper again. It was as if Matt thought he had to ramp up his own smile by a few megawatts every time Alfred frowned, like it was some sort of immunization. 

“Come on Al. I know you’re awake.” Matthew paused then knocked again.

If Matthew knew he was awake then why was he still knocking? 

“It’s cold,” he finally whined, giving up the futile hope of more sleep. He sat up, curling forwards with his arms wrapped around himself. 

Matthew shuffled a little, outside the door. “Al,” he said, “It’s winter. You’re not going to get away from the cold, so you might as well try to enjoy it.” 

Oh. Was that a bit of exasperation breaking through? There might have actually been some teeth behind that one, underneath Matt’s layers of niceness.

“Al,” Matt said again. “Al, please.”

The sad tone brought his head turning towards the door, almost involuntarily. He cursed silently. He knew damn well what his brother was doing.

“Al if you don’t come with me I’m gonna have to just take Kuma and last time I did that he decided to go fishing. I had to pull him out of the pond.”

Alfred blinked. Heard his snorted laugh before he could stop himself. 

“You wouldn’t do that to me would you?” Matthew asked. Alfred could hear the grin behind it.

He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, feeling his lips curling upwards without effort.

“Al?” Matthew asked again, in a coaxing tone. 

The quilts fell out of the way as he swung his legs off the bed. He stood up and walked over to the door.

“Fine,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Where’s this hill?” 

* * * 

Five hours later he severely regretted his decision. 

His shoulder screamed as he shoved the door open and tossed his things down in the entryway, not giving a fuck where they went.

That had been an utter disaster. 

But… it had started out well. He had to admit that. And that made it all the worse. It had been nice to get out for a while, despite the cold and all, and there was something about that first initial rush going downhill. 

Of course, there were the trudging steps back up said hill. And the snow getting somehow wedged in between his wrist and his gloves, and then under his collar. Somehow amidst all that he got caught in the crossfire between two groups armed with enough snowballs to take on Fort Ticonderoga. And then finally he’d smashed into a tree. 

Ultimately, all their outing had done was proven that winter was out to get him. 

Matthew followed closely behind him. “Okay so that didn’t turn out so great. We’ll just-"

“No.” He whirled around to face his brother. “I’m done. I’m cold and sore and I’m sick as fuck of your stupid winter wonderland.” 

He tried to ignore how Matthew flinched, yanking the knit cap off his head with his uninjured arm. Even as he turned around though a small voice inside scolded him, telling him that was going too far. It wasn’t Matt’s fault that everything felt so fucked up. 

‘But it’s nice to have someone to blame aside from yourself, isn’t it?’

Shut up.

‘You’re mad because Matt’s acting so fucking cheerful, right? Being obnoxious? Have you even looked in a mirror the past three hundred years?’

Shut up.

‘You don’t even have a smile to go on your annoying face. You’re just a little ball of angst and it’s a wonder he’s even let you stay around for this long. Should just toss you out on your fucking a-'

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath.

“I didn’t say anything.” Matthew was looking at him strangely. Really Alfred couldn’t blame him. 

He unclenched his fists, and slowed his quickened breath. Then he made a mistake and shook his head. He couldn’t hide the wince as his arm moved along with it.

Matthew stepped forward towards him, as if confronting a wounded animal. “You sure you’re okay? You hit that tree awfully hard.” 

“Fucking dandy,” he growled.

“Here. Let me see it,” said Matthew as he reached forward. 

Alfred turned, his temper flaring along with the pain radiating from his shoulder. “Just leave it alone Matt!” 

Matthew stepped back, eyes wide with surprise.

Oh yeah. Great. Scare your brother why don’t you? 

Alfred blew out. Closed his eyes. “It’ll be fine by tonight anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

“So you’re just going to leave it then?” 

“Don’t be stupid.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “It’s just not a big deal, okay. I’ll take care of it myself.”

Twenty minutes later he found himself sitting on the couch, shirtless with a covered pack of ice on his shoulder. 

“If I knew this was how you were gonna handle it I would’ve just ignored you.” 

“You’re just being a big baby.” Matthew frowned. “Why are you being so weird about this anyway?” 

“It’s damn cold.” 

“It’s taking down the swelling.” Matthew said, while examining the bruises along his side. They were already turning from purple to an odd shade of green. He looked up at him, with just a bit of sympathy. “And that isn’t exactly what I mean anyway.”

Alfred leaned away from his brother’s fingers, wincing as they hit a particular sensitive bruise.

“You’re making a big deal out of something when it shouldn’t be. It’ll heal up in no time.”

Matthew pulled back, just a bit, and looked at him. His expression was puzzled, and his eyes were sad, looking for something more, Alfred thought, than cracked ribs. 

Alfred turned his head, towards the fire Matthew had started in the fireplace, so that he wouldn’t have to see the frown he’d put on his brother’s face. 

Maybe it would be better if Matt did send him home. At least one of them would be happy then. Even if…

He shivered.

Matt’s hand, warm and gentle, rested on his arm. “Just a few more minutes.” 

* * *

Matthew breathed in deeply, soaking in the scent of pine that lay heavy around them. 

“So where is it?” Alfred asked as they walked, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Over here.” Matthew smiled. From what he could tell, Alfred was in a better mood, somewhat recovered from the sledding debacle a couple of days prior. He seemed a little less tired, a little easier to smile, even if it rarely reached his eyes. It was a bit of an improvement though.

An improvement for Alfred and a comfort for Matthew. 

No. After that night, a relief was what it was.

“That’s your tree?” Alfred asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Uh… yeah.” Matthew turned back around, to face his brother, who’d stopped a few feet back.

“That one’s too big Matt,” Alfred said, staring up at the tree in front of them.

“It should fit just fine, I’d think.” Matthew smiled, turning back around towards it. 

“Yeah, if you want the top half bent over across the ceiling it should be great.”

“It’s not that big.” Matthew walked over to the tree, inspecting the branches. “It’s nice and full. Not a lot of bare spots.” 

Alfred gave him an incredulous look. “It’s also four feet taller than you.” 

Matthew crossed his arms and looked at the tree again. “Okay, so it’s a little big. It’s also the best tree out here.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s the right tree.” Alfred looked out over the lot. 

“Okay, so let’s keep looking.” 

“Can’t we just pick one,” Alfred whined. “We’ve been out here for hours.”

Matt looked off to the side, thinking perhaps he’d overestimated his brother’s mood. He glanced down at his watch. Alfred was exaggerating a bit, but they had been there for a while. 

He’d thought it was nice though, walking around outdoors, examining the trees. Alfred had always enjoyed it. But the sour expression now on his brother’s face was a sharp contrast to the last time they’d done this, probably three years ago. Al had been laughing the entire time, about something or other. 

He’d been the one grousing at the end of the day, after being dragged from one end of the lot to the next while Alfred shouted, “Mattie. Hey. Wouldn’t this one be great?” Only to change his mind shortly afterwards and pull him over to another one, proclaiming that one to be the perfect tree. Of course then the day had ended with them finally picking one, only to have the tree hit him in the face as Alfred lifted it up onto his shoulder and turned to haul it back to the car. 

Despite Alfred’s wheedling, they hadn’t gone to get a live tree in later years. After Alfred had left he’d made sure to get a nice artificial one.

The disappointed look on his brother’s face when he saw it already sitting in the living room the next year had only stung for a few moments and he’d ignored it at the time. When Alfred had asked if he missed the smell of pine he’d lied and said of course not, and that besides, if he wanted the smell he could buy a candle or something. 

Now, seeing his brother stare down at the snow, occasionally looking up indifferently at the trees, he wished he’d never bought the damn thing. 

He crossed his arms and looked out over the lot again. “I think there were a few over there that should be okay. Not as full as this one, but still a good size.”

“Then why didn’t we go over to those first?” Alfred asked, annoyance just barely contained. 

‘Because you love the big ones’, Matthew thought. ‘Because I’m tired off seeing your eyes look so dull.’ He couldn’t say that of course. He just smiled and shuffled his feet a big, knocking a bit of the snow off of his boots pointlessly. “So it was a little too big. It was still nice to look at.” 

Alfred looked at the tree for a minute, and the tired expression was still there, but Matthew saw his lips quirk up, just a little. “I guess,” Alfred replied. 

And Matthew smiled, his heart feeling just a little lighter with that small victory. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Still,” Alfred said, crossing his arms. “It’s cold and we’ve been here forever and we still don’t have a tree.”

“Okay. Point.” Matthew lifted the axe again. “We’ll get this done and then we can go get something warm before heading back.” 

“Cider?” Alfred asked, sounding hopeful.

“Cider sounds excellent.” Matthew could feel the smile growing on his face. “Come on. Let’s go get our tree,” he said, setting off across the field. 

It didn’t take long to pick between the two or three that Matthew had made note of earlier in the day. It still felt strange, to see Alfred standing there instead of bouncing back and forth among them, but he’d take what he could get. 

He should have known better than to count the day as a success before it was half-over. 

After talking to the lot owner for a few minutes and paying for the tree Matthew returned to find Alfred standing off to the side, sipping a cup of cider. He was looking off to the side, towards a family. The two children were having a mock battle of sorts, pushing snow at each other’s necks, shrieking with laughter. The parents looked on, ready to intervene, but happy to stand and watch the two girls make fools of themselves. 

Matthew didn’t think much about it at the time, but Alfred was noticeably quiet on the drive back. 

It wasn’t until that night that all the little details started to coalesce. 

He’d decided to try one more time that day, after they’d gotten the tree up and decorated. He’d actually managed to get a smile out of him, a real honest-to-God Alfred smile… or Kumakora did at least, when the bear wound up falling head first into a plastic tub of decorations and popping back up moments later with bright red and gold garland draped across his muzzle and a rocking horse ornament hanging off one ear. 

The moment was fleeting, but Matthew ran after it, pulling a few Christmas movies out while he sent Alfred into the kitchen for some snacks. He picked children’s shows and lighthearted movies, purposefully avoiding anything like _A Christmas Carol_ or _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Still, he began to notice, while they sat on opposite corners of the couch, feet and legs tangled, the way certain scenes left his brother frowning, or subtly feigning disinterest. 

And they all followed the same trend.

There weren’t many items left on his bulleted list, except for baking and caroling, the latter of which he’d scrapped the evening they’d started on the lights. He had no desire to inflict that fake smile on either Alfred or himself again. But there wasn’t a lot that actually seemed to be working. Sometimes it felt like the idiot was deliberately not enjoying himself.

Giving his brother a happy Christmas was going to take something monumental. 

The idea that began to form in Matthew’s head at that point was certainly that. It could also have been one of the worst ones he’d ever come up with. But he was beginning to think that this really wasn’t a job he could do alone. 

Desperate times called for desperate measures.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note for this and subsequent chapters. Kyle = Australia

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Kirkland please.” 

Arthur looked up from the papers in his hands when the familiar voice, just loud enough for him to hear as he walked by his aide’s desk, came across the line.

“May I ask who’s calling?” Mary asked, looking over at the display.

Arthur waved his hand to get her attention, mouthing, “I’ve got it.” 

“Matthew,” Arthur said after picking up the phone, “Is something the matter? You don’t normally call on this line.” 

“You know, it’s amazing how easy it is to lose track of people. I thought it’d be better not to leave things to chance.”

Arthur made a face. “That didn’t answer any of my questions lad.” He paused for a moment, remembering their last conversation. “Did you ever manage to reach Alfred?” 

“Yeah. And everything’s okay,” he said. He then added, “Kind of. Things are mostly okay.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead and doing a quick mental inventory of his medicine cabinet. He’d probably need the paracetamol. “What did the idiot do now?”

“Nothing,” Mathew said, insistently.

Oh. That normally meant he’d done _something_. 

“Just…” Matthew continued, “Well, you said you hadn’t heard from him recently, right?” 

“No. I haven’t. Not for a few weeks.”

“Well, the last time you spoke to him how did he sound? In your opinion.” 

Arthur sat down, wondering where exactly Matthew was going with his line of questioning. “Like his usual loud self. He was going on about some movie or another that he’d seen. Said something about the alien being gone. Damned good riddance in my opinion. Foul mouthed li-" He stopped when he caught sight of Mary in the corner, trying to hide a smile. “Point being, nothing sounded horribly out of the ordinary.”

“Mmm…” Matthew said. 

“You still haven’t told me why.”

“He’s just not acting like himself.” Matthew said, sounding hesitant. “I was trying to figure out when it had started up. His government’s people said he’d sounded stressed lately. I was wondering maybe if he’d said anything to you about it.” 

“Not acting himself how?” Arthur asked, poking at a desk doo-dad absentmindedly. He stopped himself when he realized it was one that Alfred had given him a few years ago. 

“He’s been… moody. He said his phone just wasn’t working but… I got there and he didn’t have any of his decorations up, and I can’t get him to do anything. He’s up here right now. I had to drag him out of the house to get the tree. Actually,” he continued, “getting him to do anything has been… difficult.” 

Arthur paused. Let his chair dip back and looked heavenward. “You mean you’ve gotten yourself worked up over the fact that he isn’t hopping around in his bloody awful Christmas sweaters?” 

“That’s not really- you make this sound so trivial.” 

Arthur sighed. “Matthew if I had a pound for every person I’ve seen through my years who said they didn’t feel like celebrating Christmas I’d-"

“But this _isn’t_ just any person. This is Alfred. You know how he is.” Matthew’s voice was strengthening in tone, if perhaps not volume. 

Arthur closed his eyes. No sense in letting him get upset. “So what do you propose? I’m assuming that’s the reason you called. Because you think something needs to be done.” 

“It’s...” The word came out strained, and Matthew paused for a moment, evidently calming himself, because the next words came out smoothly once again. “I’ve been trying to do something. Stuff he normally really likes doing. But nothing’s working.” Matthew breathed in, and then said in a rush, “I thought maybe we could all do something for Christmas this year.” 

Arthur blinked, Matthew’s words blindsiding him. He cleared his throat. “Matthew, I’m sorry. This is probably going to sound terribly rude of me, but what in the world made you think that was a good idea?”

“I…” Matthew was silent for a moment, and Arthur could practically see the poor boy fidget. “It’s just that Christmas really is meant to be spent with family and-"

“Matthew,” Arthur said, trying to reign in a tendril of panic- the headache was already beginning to blossom, “It’s a little short notice, don’t you think?”

Without prompting Mary started flipping through her trusty planner. He shook his head, a sharp desperate movement, motioning for her to stop. She just quirked an eyebrow at him and kept turning the pages casually. Traitorous woman.

He rolled his eyes. “Lad, you really shouldn’t worry so much. I’m sure he’ll snap out of it in no time at all.”

The silence on the other side of the line was almost palpable. 

“I’ll see what I can do, alright? I won’t make any promises, but we’ll see.” 

“Thank you, Arthur.” 

He winced at the sincerity in Matthew’s voice.

At that point Mary held the planner up for him to see. She looked thoroughly satisfied with herself.

Clear of any serious commitments.

Damn it.

* * *

Well… Matthew thought. That could have gone worse. 

It was a lot more than he’d hoped for. He’d called Arthur first because, honestly, he’d expected a negative response right away. Better to get it out of the way and be done with it.

Matthew had never known Arthur to be overly fond of Christmas. Not that he’d ever seemed to have anything against the holiday, either. In fact, according to Francis, Arthur had loved the holiday when it was considered _the_ day to get absolutely smashed. Matthew had never seen it for himself, but then the times he’d spent Christmas with the man it had mostly been after the Revolution, when he’d been brought over to London in order to ‘counter negative influences’. Arthur had never overtly said who they were, but Matthew had known all the same. 

The house had been warm, and inviting, and _lively_ , with the servants rushing about to get food made and garlands hung all over. And Arthur had always been a good entertainer, despite his failings. Throughout the Christmas season there’d been dinners, and parties, and games, culminating in a huge gathering on the sixth of January. 

But those weeks in December and early January had always felt so mixed, with Arthur often looking gloomy when he thought no one was watching. Over time that had seemed to ease a bit, Matthew thought, those expressions becoming less frequent. But then of course a certain war had broken out, leaving them all ‘out of sorts’, as Arthur had liked to put it, as if Matthew couldn’t see the pained looks on his face. First it had been Francis, and then Alfred had come along to make things worse. 

Christmas of 1814 had been especially miserable. He’d always hoped signing that treaty on Christmas Eve might make things a little more tolerable. Arthur had seemed strangely cheerful before he’d left for Belgium, without any given explanations. But instead of being a balm, the treaty had left a lasting hurt of some sort, as if it had ripped open the wound from the revolution and poured in a cupful of salt. Arthur had returned several days later, even gloomier than normal. 

He’d thought at the time that the London estate had long since been purged of any traces of Alfred. That night he’d found out differently when he’d came up to check on his guardian, finding him sitting in front of the fire feeding it one letter after another. Matthew had never been able to find out what had happened that Christmas eve. The one time he’d tried to ask Arthur had cut him off before he’d been able to get out more than five words. 

After that year the Christmas festivities began to get smaller. Even the addition of a couple of small colonies underfoot hadn’t improved things, and that only lasted a few years anyway. The last non-wartime holiday he’d spent with Arthur had been sometime in the 1830s, and the house had been near silent at times, Kyle having been sent back to his own lands during the British winter. Matthew himself had gone back to Ontario the next summer and, despite still visiting Arthur every so often, had never come back during December.

He’d thought about those Christmases for years. Had wondered, even while enjoying his quiet holidays to himself, what it would be like to have another of those. Had wondered for so long what it would be like to just ask. 

It was funny, in a way. All of those years it had been a tiny point of friction between him and his brother, albeit one Alfred had probably never known about. But ultimately it took involving Alfred for Matthew to finally pick up the phone. 

* * *

The light leaked through the blinds, streaming across the room and straight into Alfred’s eyes. He grimaced, turning away from the window, and rubbed his forehead. 

Somehow taking a nap had done nothing for his headache aside from making it worse. 

And now even the light was betraying him, he thought as he pulled the blanket over his head. You’d think he’d at least be able to depend on that, right? 

Not that he was one to talk about dependability. He hadn’t even called Ms. Lisa or anyone at the center to let them know he’d be gone during Christmas. Not that they probably needed him that badly anyway, but…

He sat up, feeling his muscles complain with every movement, and pulled the blanket along with him, tugging it across his shoulders as he reached for the old corded phone Matthew kept in his guest room. 

The voices coming out when he picked it up took him off guard, made him hesitate long enough to recognize Kyle’s voice. 

“I don’t know Matt. It’s always so cold there.”

“Yeah, I know it’s kind of cold for you… but I really don’t know if I could get him to make the trip.”

“Hmph,” he could hear the slight bitterness to the voice, “So you expect us to make the trip instead.”

Alfred winced, fairly certain he knew who they were referring to. 

“I know, that sounded bad. I’m sorry. It’s just- Kyle, It was already a headache just getting him up here. I mean, I’ve had trouble getting him out to McDonald’s. Do you really think I’m going to be able to get him on a twenty hour flight?”

And yup, there was the confirmation.

There was a long silence, then, “You’re not being serious, right?”

“You really think I’d lie about that?”

“I…” Kyle said, “Jesus. He really wouldn’t go for Macca’s?” 

“Yeah, he’s-" Matthew paused. “I don’t know what’s going on. It feels like everything’s turned inside out. That’s probably been the least of the issues.” 

And Alfred didn’t know which he wanted to do more, burrow back into the blankets or shoot himself. The exhaustion in Matthew’s voice was clear and he was the one who put it there.

“You’re kind of cutting it close, you know. Getting a flight out would be a pain in the arse at this point. And don’t think I’m forgetting something either. I can count the number of times I’ve seen the pom during Christmas on my two hands. Only once since WWII. And you know why.” 

Alfred winced at the rebuke, memories coming, unbidden, of a chilly December night, made all the colder for an invitation, rejected before he even realized what was being offered.

Kyle sighed, “but if Arthur’s on boa-"

That’s the moment Alfred pulled the phone away from his ear. 

He hung it up as gently as possible and closed his eyes, scooting back away from the nightstand. Matt had no right to get others involved in this. It was between him and his brother. A stupid bet he never should have agreed to in the first place, that ultimately didn’t even mean anything. 

He clenched his fists until his nails were digging painfully into his palms, curling forward around his stomach. He felt sick. And embarrassed. And so fucking mad.

But worst of all, god help him…

Hopeful. 

* * *

Arthur was worried. Not that he could actually admit that to himself. He was living on the edge of acknowledgement and denial and he’d be damned if he’d let himself be pushed off the side before he was ready.

But he’d found himself over the last day drumming his finger tips on his desk, or glancing over at that damned whirly doo-dad.

He couldn’t have a normal holiday season. No. Like everything else, Alfred had to worm his way in and make his life complicated. 

Again. 

Of course, he wasn’t necessarily surprised either. 

He still couldn’t be certain of course, and it had taken him years to notice. There were, after all, many reasons someone could have for disappearing for several months out of the year. But the near total avoidance… that had been like a neon sign, flashing ‘Look here! Something’s wrong!’. 

Oh, you’d still see Alfred at times during those months, but only if he was the one initiating contact, or was somehow forced out through a world meeting or the Winter Olympics. In recent years Arthur had tried, several times, to see Alfred during the winter. Their meetings had nearly always been cancelled, some weak excuse being served up, the same thing happening many of the times he’d called. 

Well, if the idiot didn’t want help what was it to him? 

And this hypothetical problem had finally burrowed itself into the holidays then what the hell did that change?

After all, any offerings he made were just as likely to be spurned on that day as any other. 

“Mr. England, if I might suggest…” Arthur looked up to see Mary standing in the doorway. “If you hold that pen any tighter it’s going to break.” 

He relaxed his hand reflexively, without looking at it. 

“Also,” she continued, “You should have gone for lunch an hour ago. I didn’t want to disturb you and there’s quite a bit of leeway in your schedule today, but...” 

“Clear it off,” he said, without thinking. He stood, taking one last look down at the paper he’d been working on. Half of it was covered with sharp scribbles and crossed out words. “I’m not getting anything accomplished and none of those meetings are of vital importance.”

The gears were already turning in Mary’s head, pulling up his schedule and reordering appointments. He left, tugging on his coat and pulling his scarf around his neck, before she could ask any questions. 

He’d meant to take a cab. Had raised his arm up to hail one as he neared the street, but then let it drop. He turned instead, walking down the sidewalk, not knowing where he was going, and frankly not caring. 

Hours later he was still walking. The streets were busy and Christmas lights were glittering against the darkening sky. 

They really were spectacular that year, and he wasn’t the only one who thought so apparently. He’d passed at least eight people looking about excitedly as they’d come up, most of them under the age of ten.

And oh yes, it was definitely the middle of the Christmas shopping season. At least half of the people he passed were carrying bags and packages. The energy of it all was pulsing in him. Somehow it didn’t quite push away the soft ache he’d started noticing since he’d stepped outside. Perhaps just made it more noticeable. 

Damn that boy.

It had taken him years to fully enjoy the season again. And this was-

He nearly stopped in his tracks as he glanced up at a pair of small children standing in front of a window. They were laughing and pointing at the display inside. Twins by the looks of it, with light brown hair and green mittens clasped tightly together. 

Memory is strange at times, drifting away in time like a mist, and then suddenly pulling one into its dreamlike haze. 

The two boys shifted, in his minds eye, growing just a little smaller, hair lightening to a yellow hue, somewhere between honey and winter sunlight. 

Somewhere through the cascades of time two small boys hopped up and down, tugging on his coattails with bright smiles. Their first day out in London, and yes, it was early winter, wasn’t it?

They were oh so excited and he hadn’t been able to say no to them that day. Spoiling them in a way that was very unusual for him. Arthur laughed at his own weary visage. They’d pulled him in so many different directions. But oh it had been worth it. And he’d found himself not feeling so tired after all, looking at their rosy faces. Even if he’d had to carry the both of them home again, one not-so-small weight in each arm, warming him that cold winter’s evening even as he sheltered them. 

And then a shoulder slammed into his own, pulling him out of the fog of 18th century London and back to present day, bright lights and traffic and all that came with contemporary life. He looked up at the window again. 

The two boys were gone. 

He felt the temporary warmth seep out of him and nearly turned around, but some movement within the window pulled him in. He stepped up to it, watched a plane floating through a soft cotton sky, held up by wire string obviously, but if he squinted his eyes, saw with eyes not quite so old, he could see what the two boys were smiling at so brightly. A world of glitter and lights and Santa making his way through the world in a red biplane. 

In a bomber jacket.

Arthur grimaced. A gust of wind, cold and biting, rushed down through the street, biting at his bare skin. He closed his eyes, trying his best to ignore the ache in his chest. What did he care if the boy…

He tugged his coat more tightly around himself, trying to pull his good sense closer as well.

The idiot had more than once made it clear that he didn’t need Arthur’s presence. And Christmas wasn’t any different. 

He forcefully shoved away the memory of Alfred’s bright unguarded smile, that first time a few years ago he’d shown up for one of his Christmas parties, as well as the short melancholic glances Alfred had thought he’d hidden. 

Arthur bit his lip. He hadn’t celebrated Christmas with anyone in over a century. An event during the weeks beforehand, packages, and greetings, yes. But… 

He took one last look at the scene. At the figures walking, laden with packages, up to a home, and the small cluster of children waiting at the door to greet them.

He clenched down on the throbbing ache and abruptly turned away from the scene. 

It was certainly too late now. 

* * *

The sun was just setting, the light sending its last tendrils through Francis’s kitchen, when his cell phone rang. He wiped his hands on his apron, removing the excess flour, before picking it up. “Allo?” 

“Bonjour Francis.” 

“Mathieu,” Francis said, leaning against the counter with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”

“I’m doing okay.” 

Francis blinked and, after laying a towel over his bread dough, walked over to the table and sat. “You will have to forgive me for saying you do not sound ‘okay’. 

There was a pause. “Things here are a little… Well, let’s just say I’m having some issues with Alfred.

Ah. The twins and their spats. “So you found him. I’m sure whatever he’s said he did not mean. You know your brother’s tendencies to-"

“That’s not really the problem. He’s…” Matthew paused. “I guess you could say he’s got the Christmas blues, or something.” 

Francis frowned. “That does not sound like him.” 

“Yeah. It’s been an interesting week. Um… the reason I called… I know it’s kind of last minute, but I don’t suppose you’d be free for Christmas?” 

“Christmas? I would love to see you mon fils, but I’m finishing up a workshop the day before.” 

“Oh. A Christmas class?”

Francis bit his lip. The disappointment in Matthew’s voice was so clear, despite how much he tried to hide it. “Yes. I was asked to hold a special class on holiday foods. After all, who better to teach about French cuisine than France himself.” He frowned. “But let us get back to your brother. You say he is not feeling well. How long has he been under the weather?” 

“I don’t know. I dragged him up here about a week ago. I just can’t get him to snap out of it.”

Francis rested his elbow on the table, propping his head up. “Sometimes that is something you do not simply snap out of Mathieu.” 

“I know. But this is Alfred we’re talking about. Normally he’s like a rubber band. He gets out of shape and then pops right back. And I’m trying my best but-"

“But you sound as if you are over-stretching yourself in the process.” 

“I wouldn’t sa-" Mathieu stopped. After a moment he finished, “Maybe. That’s the reason I asked about Christmas. I thought maybe if we had a big holiday together that might…” 

“Make his rubber band spring back?” Francis supplied.

“Yeah. Maybe it sounds a little silly, but I’ve tried everything and he gets so…” Mathieu sighed. “We were out the other day getting a tree. And there was this family there…” 

“Ah. I think I see where you are going.” He looked down at the dough clinging to the lines in his fingers. “I am sorry. But at least this way you will not have to worry about Arthur and I making things any worse.” He paused a moment. “ _Have_ you talked to Arthur about it yet?”

“Yeah. No answer. But he didn’t say no.” 

Francis sighed, “Mathieu, if you have done that much you have already performed a small miracle. I just hope you realize if he does come things might-"

“Yeah. I realize that… But at this point I don’t see how things can get worse.”

“Do not tempt fate.” Francis frowned at Mathieu’s tired voice, then after a moment leaned back and crossed his legs. “Oh, I just remembered. An associate of mine was asking the other day about syrup. He was interested in importing some, but was uncertain about a supplier.”

Francis smiled as Mathieu’s voice perked up somewhat, the change in topics doing exactly what he’d intended. By the time he hung up the phone Mathieu had at least sounded a bit more at ease. 

He wished he could say the same about himself, but he had a feeling he’d be making a call of his own very soon. 

* * *

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to come.” 

“Ah.” Matthew said, trying to hold in his disappointment. He’d been expecting this, he told himself. Maybe if Arthur didn’t sound so stiff and formal it wouldn’t have been so bad. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Evidently my secretary had written in a few more appointments than I’d remembered.”

Matthew shut his eyes as he heard the slight tensing in Arthur’s voice. It was just an excuse, maybe even a lie. 

Arthur must have noticed the silent pause. He sighed, and his next words seemed to hunt for acceptance. “Matthew I don’t see why this should be such a problem.” 

Matthew leaned against the wall, feeling tired, and not a little frustrated. “It’s just… Al really hasn’t gotten any better and-"

“I also don’t see how you think this would help that in the slightest.” 

Matthew closed his eyes. Held himself back. 

“You know, he’s not the only one who’d like this.” And that felt like so much to put out there. Like slicing a hole into his chest. “It’s been a long time and…” He stopped suddenly feeling silly, and not unlike a small colony standing in Arthur’s office asking him why he had to leave again. 

“Matthew,” Arthur said, his voice softening a little, “I’m sorry, but you know how busy we can be. I’d love to be there poppet, but fact of the matter is that there are several functions I’m expected to show up at. Besides you might see me sometime during the season. Nations tend to attract strange events like flies you know.” 

Matthew grimaced. “Yeah, but that’s not really-"

“Listen love, I’m late for a meeting. I’ll talk to you sometime later. Perhaps we can try to work something out around New Years.” 

The phone disconnected before he could say anything else. He was left holding it, staring down at the display in mild disbelief. 

The microwave beeped, startling him. He walked over to it, pulled the mug out, and dumped the instant powder in almost mechanically, stirring without thought. Matthew sat down at the table, wrapping his hands lightly around the outside of his mug and letting the warmth seep into his fingers.

So that was it.

Kyle had already called back earlier that day, saying they couldn’t come either. Arthur had been the last chance. 

The kicker was that, until that call he hadn’t even realized _how much_ he’d wanted this. Not for Al, but for himself. 

“Dammit,” he whispered. 

“Got any more of that?” Alfred’s voice came from behind him. 

“Huh?” He asked, before looking down at the hot chocolate. “Oh. Yeah.” He added, “of course,” as he stood up, before Alfred could say a word in protest. “You want extra marshmallows?” he glanced over his shoulder. A small shrug, but then, after a second, a nod. 

He felt himself shift a little out of his own gloom. That was progress. He dug the old tin back out, as well as the marshmallows, and… he thought for a moment. He moved over towards the fridge and pulled out the milk and syrups. Mint and chocolate and caramel. What else…

“I coulda told you he’d do that.”

Matthew froze, his head still peaking into the refrigerator. “Who, Al?” 

His brother ignored him, pushing the snowflake salt shaker across the table with his finger, then pushing it back with the other hand. “Sometimes you’re kinda sucky at keeping secrets Matt. First rule is you gotta make sure there’s no one listening on the other line.” 

Matthew shut the door with his foot and walked back over to the counter. “Al-"

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop or anything, promise.”

Matthew lifted a mug out of the cabinet and filled it with milk. Al would like that one. It was the one with bright green and red elf hats Al had gotten him a few years back… “I know.” He popped the microwave open then stopped. He looked back at his brother, whose head now lay on the table.

Maple… 

This called for the good stuff.

He bent over and pulled out a saucepan from one of the cabinets, got out the cocoa powder and sugar, and got to work. It wasn’t a difficult process- he knew the recipe by heart- but it was one that involved him standing over the stove, gently stirring the milk.

It meant not having to face his brother for a few minutes.

By the time the steam was rising off the cocoa, just shy of a simmer, he still had no clue about what to say.

He filled the mugs, one for Alfred, and another one for himself and walked back over to the table, stepping over to the counter to retrieve the marshmallows before sitting down. 

They sat there for a while in silence, each blowing on their respective cups of cocoa, taking occasional sips, and wishing the warmth would actually spread to where it was needed. 

Alfred’s words came out of nowhere it seemed, breaking the stillness with their own broken notes. “I’m sorry Matt. If you hadn’t mentioned me he might have actually shown up.”

And how could he respond to that, when they both knew that was partially the truth.

More than partially.

His foot tapped an agitated rhythm out on the hardwood. His fingernail found a chip on the edge of the rim and dug in. 

He should have said something. Anything. But all those small irritations, every small slight, every too quiet Christmas had built up. 

Without finishing his cocoa he stood up, took his mug to the sink, and then walked out of the room. He didn’t turn back around, uncaring even as he felt Al’s eyes follow him. 

* * *

Arthur stared sullenly at the doo-dad, now sitting beside a small stack of relatively untouched papers. He poked at it, watching the wheel spin around on its axis, then catch on anther wheel and send it spinning as well in another direction. The wheels spun on and on, setting off other pieces and moving them as well, until the entire thing caught, at the end of its motion loop. Arthur sent it spinning the other way. And then again.

Why in the hell had he kept the damned thing anyway? All it did was distract him. 

‘Hey, something’s gotta do the job when I’m not there’ he could practically hear Alfred say, with a loud laugh. 

Arthur’s eyebrows narrowed. Picking up the doo-dad, he opened up a desk drawer and dropped it inside. 

Just a distraction. And clutter.

Moments later Mary’s heels announced her arrival. She was flipping through a handful of envelopes as she walked in the door. “Your invitation to Mr. Ward’s party just came. Do you want to send any excuses in particular with the RSVP or just mark off the ‘no’. 

“That’s not necessary. I’ve decided I’m going to go this year,” Arthur said, looking down at his neglected paperwork. 

Mary looked up at him from the envelopes. “Excuse me? For a moment I thought you said-"

He nodded. “I did. He never fails to invite me. Never shuts up about my not coming actually. I thought I might as well go. Perhaps it would get him off my back about it.” 

“You always said going would simply encourage him.” 

“Yes, well… Perhaps it’s time to try a different tactic.” After a moment he added, “Also, pencil back in that dinner with Mr. Ward.” 

She stared at him as if he’d gone mad.

“Is there a problem?” He asked. 

She crossed her arms, walking over to her chair. “You never do anything on Christmas, sir.”

“It shouldn’t be an issue, should it?” He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. 

Her expression tightened, just for a moment, as she sat down and opened up her planner. “No Sir.” 

* * *

He was alone. 

He was alone and the woods surrounded him, dark and cold.

The breath clouded in front of him, white and frosty and he could almost feel it freeze in his lungs as he took a shuddering breath in. 

Somewhere, just beyond the closest trees the darkness moved. It growled, a low crackling noise that shook him and he tried to back away, falling instead onto the hard frozen ground. 

It came circling around, surrounding him. Waiting. 

He shivered and his head turned, following the sound of thin cracking branches. A sound he knew it was making on purpose. It could move silently, seizing your throat before you ever saw its teeth. 

Something inside him cracked and a sob broke free, followed by another. He squeezed his eyes against the night and the stalking darkness and everything… everything that just felt so wr-

Alfred woke, the dream aborted prematurely. 

The room was as dark as the woods had been, and the quilt he pulled up over his ears felt too thin a barrier. 

He snuffled into the pillow his face was pressed into, shaking just as much as before, unable to stop. 

The growling still echoed in his mind. He could almost feel the dark prowling around the room and not just in the corners of his mind. On nights like this it seemed almost alive. 

It never seemed that far gone during winter. He sometimes thought, perhaps it was a part of himself, some ancient part that remembered a time devoid of light. Perhaps even, on the particularly bad nights, that _it_ was his core, and everything else was just tacked on. The thought haunted him, that the reason the warmth left him along with the sun’s light was because in reality perhaps that was what _he_ was. And that someday perhaps that gaping black maw inside might take everything else, its gravity too strong even to let in the light around him. 

The pillow underneath him was wet and the room felt too cold. It crossed his mind, for just a moment, to get up. Matt might-

He pressed his face further into the pillow, shaking his head almost subconsciously. He closed his eyes instead, the darkness easier to deal with. 

The sooner he surrendered to it the sooner the light would come back.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun was peaking in the windows the next morning but the darkness never really left. 

“Matt!” he yelled, and stormed out of his room with a glare. “Why is this my alarm?” 

Matthew was coming down the hall with a basket of laundry. He looked up, innocently. “It’s festive.”

Alfred growled, rubbing his head. “Matt it was fucking annoying in the sixties and it’s annoying now.” 

“You love that song,” Matthew said, with a frown, shifting the laundry basket onto his hip.

“Chingedy-ching Hee-haw, Hee-haw,” sang the cell phone from the bedroom.

“Shut up,” Alfred yelled, stalking back into the room and grabbing the phone, swiping his finger across the screen furiously until it finally, mercifully, stopped. “Okay, first of all. Why in the fuck was it on my phone to begin with? And second, why is my alarm going off at eight-thirty? You changed my settings.” 

“Not like you don’t mess with my phone all the time.” Matthew, who had followed him as far as the door, shrugged and the basket slid down just a little. He hitched it back up with an annoyed glance. “And you’ve stopped listening to me anyway. Thought you might pay better attention to that.” 

Alfred turned back around, setting his phone down with a thunk on top of the scattered remnants of a ripped Christmas card. “Well maybe if you’d quit being an ass about-"

“An ass?” Matthew glared at him and gripped the basket in his hands. “I’m just trying to help.” 

“Yeah well maybe you suck at it.” Alfred turned around sharply, ignoring the pained look on his brother’s face, and slammed the door.

It didn’t crack, no matter how badly he wanted it to. Something still held him back that much at least.

He crossed his arms, holding them tightly against his chest, but found the anger splintering, falling apart into something else entirely. He sunk down against the wall, feeling the doorframe dig painfully into his back on the way down. 

“Al?” He heard his brother from the other side. 

He pressed his hands against his ears. Pressed so hard he could feel the pressure change and a low roar take the place of Matt’s voice. Almost. 

He never could understand how his twin’s soft voice managed to get past all those defenses, all his shields, to cut into him something awful. 

He hated it.

He pressed all the harder, gripping the tops of his ears and pressing his face down into his knees. 

“Go away!” he yelled. His breath caught in his throat, painfully. It came out in a whine, pulling at some jagged piece in his chest. 

He closed his eyes, but couldn’t escape the ache thrumming somewhere inside. His head, his whole body, throbbed with it. He always managed to forget it, somehow. But then it always came back. That sick pain in his chest and his head. 

Some mean part of him felt satisfaction when he heard Matthew’s footsteps going down the hall. The rest of him just hurt.

* * *

Yet again Arthur had fled his office. 

He’d admittedly taken an over-extended lunch, but it seemed as if everywhere he went the same oppressive atmosphere followed him. He’d been all over, finally finding himself in his favorite park. Even there, surrounded by the open air, he felt somehow suffocated. It took a good twenty minutes before he realized that the familiar paths held no peace for him. With a huff he sat down on a bench beside the water. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Probably Mary wondering where exactly he’d gone off to. He answered it without looking at the screen. 

“Arthur,” the voice came through the speaker, too loud and too French.

“What do you want?” he asked, leaning back into the bench. 

“Nothing. Why do I have to want something to call you? Can I not simply call a neighbor to chat or-"

“Cut the crap Francis.” 

Francis paused a moment, then continued. “Very well. Matthew says you have canceled on his Christmas plans.” 

“You can’t cancel if you don’t say you’re going to be there to begin with.” Arthur studied his nails, trimmed too short. “He didn’t tell me you were coming.” 

“I unfortunately had other obligations. There is a project that I was working on I am afraid and-"

“So I don’t see how you’re any better than I am frog.” 

“…Admittedly I am starting to think the same thing.” 

The confession caught Arthur off balance.

Francis continued on through his silence. “It is not my intention to lecture-"

“But you will anyway.” 

Francis paid him no mind, as usual. “Arthur, I have seen you through the years, absolutely miserable. I did not think it my place, to say much. And I let you stew in your own bitter juices. This however is not just about you. Has not been for some time, I am beginning to realize.”

“Well,” Arthur growled, “I’m sure my own ‘juices’, combined with whatever it is Matthew’s worried about would make for a wonderful holiday punch, don’t you?”

“What it is- Are you even hearing what you are saying? You are ducking your head into the sand because you do not want to deal with-"

“Oh and I suppose you’ll be hopping on the next jet over then? I don’t see you making all that much effort to-"

“Perhaps I am not-

“Now who’s ‘ducking their head’?”

“Perhaps,” Francis yelled, “I am not the one who is _needed_.”

“Needed!” Arthur’s voice rose to match Francis’, and a cluster of birds took flight. He quickly lowered his volume, just enough to not attract undue attention. “That idiot has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need _my_ help for anything.”

“Just because he does not say it does not mean-” Francis cut himself off abruptly, then began again in a lower, yet still passionate volume, “And what of Matthew? 

“Matthew is _just fine_ ,” Arthur nearly spat. “He’s not the one causing trouble.” 

Francis was silent. Then he began again, in that same low, dangerous voice, “Arthur Kirkland you are an obstinate fool. And I don’t know if at this point you are simply blind to the fact that you are not solely hurting yourself, or if that old heart of yours has just grown so cold as to not care anymore.”

The call ended abruptly. 

Arthur jammed the phone back into his pocket. He stood up, walking back down the path he’d come and tugging his coat tightly around himself. The air seemed suddenly chilled, more so than before. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

It was perhaps five minutes before he saw them, out of the corner of his eye. Standing a good ways off, under a large tree, were two small boys. In what was perhaps a trick of the mind or perhaps a bizarre fluke, they were the same he’d seen a few days prior. The same light brown hair. The same bright green gloves. One was crying while the other looked on silently, a hand held out towards his brother but clearly uncertain about what to do. He looked fearful himself. 

Arthur found himself frozen in place.

And then, before Arthur could take a step in either direction, a man came jogging down through the park towards them, fiercely scolding before leaning down and wrapping them both up in his arms. 

Arthur turned and walked away. Away from the small family, the man now sitting on the park bench, one sobbing child held tightly in his lap and the other held just as closely to his side. 

* * *

Matthew finally heard Alfred come out of the bedroom sometime after noon. He found his brother sitting in the living room with the tv going. When Matthew walked through to get a book Alfred barely glanced up. When he did his eyes were guarded. And red rimmed. 

And that didn’t bother him.

Not at all.

Which explained perfectly why he found himself standing over a griddle several hours later making a variation on his favorite comfort food. 

He shouldn’t have had to fetch his brother. The combined scent of bacon and pancakes should have done that for him. 

His brother stood, finally meeting his eyes at least, and followed him into the kitchen. They sat down at the table and began to eat, silence once again taking over. 

At least until Alfred looked up with a frown, poking at the pancakes with his fork. “Matt,” he said, “There’s peppermint chunks in these things.” 

Matthew shrugged. “Thought I’d try something new. It’s the same basic batter, just a bit of-"

“God Matt, would you just stop,” Alfred sighed, and sat his fork down on his plate with a clatter. “For the last week you’ve been like attack of the Christmas pod people.”

“Attack of the…” Matthew didn’t have time to feel offended before hearing himself burst out in a laugh of sheer relief. Because that… that had sounded more like his brother than he’d heard in what felt like forever.

Alfred’s lips tightened. He stood up and walked over towards the fridge, pulling out the milk and setting it on the counter. 

Matthew crossed his arms. “Well, we had a bet didn’t we?”

“Yeah well maybe I think it’s time to give up the stupid bet.” 

“Why? Just because you’re in an even worse mood than normal?” Matthew groused. 

“I’m tired!” Alfred spun around towards him. “Okay? I’m tired of the trees and the cookies and the damn carols already!”

“The cookies?”

“Nine dozen Matt! Why in the hell do we need nine dozen cookies? You know the next day I was still digging icing out of my hair? Face it. You’re not gonna make me feel better by clubbing me over the head with a fricking candy cane.” 

“Oh I am _so_ sorry,” Matthew said, through clenched teeth. “Pulling you out of your damn self imposed hibernation to have _Christmas_. How _awful_ of me.”

Alfred’s eyes shot open. “Maybe I just don’t want to do Christmas this year!” he yelled. “Maybe I think it’s just a waste of time! Is that okay with you?” 

Matthew bit back a retort. Everything was getting completely out of hand. He breathed in and tried to unclench his jaw. “I just really hate seeing you like this,” he said, and he tried to take the bite out of his tone but failed. Miserably. 

“Well if you don’t want to see it then why’d you bring me up here in the first place,” Alfred growled. “Cause you know I coulda’ saved you the trouble. You could have just ignored it. I’ll be back to my old loud, annoying self in three months just like always, so just wait around and you’ll be back to dealing with that idiot again, okay?

“Would you stop-"

“And you know what? I don’t even see why this matters. So it came on a little early. Four weeks. What’s the big fucking deal?” 

“It’s Christmas!” Matthew yelled. “You’re not supposed to be sad at Christmas.”

Alfred’s shoulders tensed visibly, pulling forwards. His eyes squeezed shut. Then they opened again and when he looked up at Matthew they were angry and piercing and…

Full of tears.

“Fuck you!” Alfred said, grabbing a scarf off the table and storming out the kitchen door, slamming it behind him. 

Matthew glared at it, his own breaths coming fast and hard. His hands clenched and unclenched, his nails biting into his palm before, suddenly, he turned around and kicked the garbage can, sending it slamming back into the wall. 

He stormed through the living room, tugging at his hair in an infuriating mixture of frustration and confusion. And froze as he saw a familiar coat lying across the back of the couch. He knew without having to look, that a pair of gloves were stuffed in the pocket. 

He stared at the coat and waited, expecting Alfred to come barreling back in at any moment. 

The moment never came. The doors remained firmly closed, the house silent, save for his now slowing breaths.

Matthew sat down heavily on the couch, and the coat slid down to rest beside him. His head tipped back and he closed his eyes; winced as the argument started to play itself back in his mind. 

Especially the last bit, piece by horrible piece clicking together, making his stomach churn. One phrase standing out above everything.

Three months. 

_Three months_.

And he felt sick, knowing for some reason his brother thought spending three months like this was _normal_. 

And knowing what his own words had unintentionally implied.

He knew Alfred hated winter. _Everyone_ knew Alfred hated winter. But now Matthew sat, replaying a whole lifetime full of interactions. Looking for signs that he’d missed. Realizing maybe he’d paid too little attention to be able to find them now. 

Looking for clues as if his brother’s own words weren’t enough and he wasn’t outside somewhere, cold and upset and…

He stood up and grabbed his brother’s coat, making his way out the door as fast as possible. 

* * *

It had been over an hour and there were still no signs of Alfred. Matthew rubbed his hands together, more out of irritation than to ward of the cold, and stepped back into the car. Al shouldn’t have been able to disappear from him so easily. There’d once been a time when he’d always known where his brother was, could almost instinctively sense where his brother had hidden. 

Now Matthew couldn’t even find him in his own damn city.

_He_ was supposed to be the one difficult to find. Alfred was the twin that stood out like a sore thumb, screaming his presence from the mountaintops. Of course, the last week had forced him to acknowledge that maybe he didn’t know his brother quite as well as he thought he did… 

The faint, barely there memories, which had been falling slowly back into place since he’d started looking for them, hinted otherwise. Late nights and cold toes pushed against his own as Alfred crawled into his bed- tales of a monster and assurances of protection jumping readily to his brothers lips. Persistent unexplained tears on a tiny face- hid and rubbed away almost as quickly as they appeared. Too long nights barely broken by day- Alfred barely leaving the comfort of furs clustered in the cave they’d found. 

He’d known this part of his brother, a long _long_ time ago. Somehow he’d forgotten it. 

Days long before a Christmas was ever known to them, they’d stayed warm together, finding their own light as best they could until the weakened sun returned. 

Now in a world of constant artificial light everything felt dark, and cold. 

He pushed that aside. Those thoughts weren’t going to help him find Al.

The problem was, at that point he didn’t know what would.

He took a turn, pulling back towards his neighborhood, driving by to see if his brother had returned. He hadn’t, of course. The house was dark, save for the twinkling lights around the eaves. Matthew turned back out onto another street, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He comforted himself with the thought that Al probably wasn’t still wandering around. Without the coat and gloves he’d be eager to get inside somewhere, as long as that somewhere was anywhere but Matthew’s house.

A steeple rose up in front of him, and his fingers stopped their staccato rhythm.

Of course, it couldn’t be that easy, he thought, a few minutes later as he scanned the nearly empty sanctuary without any luck. He sighed, feeling his shoulders droop, and walked forward anyway, settling himself into one of the pews. 

It was too quiet. 

The lack of noise wasn’t a surprise of course, in a church. What did surprise him was how antsy it made him. Normally the quiet was a refuge. 

It was strange, he thought, that recently silence held no peace for him. As if his brother’s unnatural quiet demeanor had ruined the stillness, tainting it. 

Right now silence didn’t mean peace. 

It was a lack of life. 

He almost didn’t notice anyone approaching him, until a hand was resting on the wooden side of the pew.

“Mind if I sit with you?” The man, thin with scruffy graying beard, asked.

Matthew nodded, and scooted over. 

“Sorry. You must think me pretty strange right now. But I saw you sitting here, and quite frankly it looked like you needed someone to talk to.” 

Matthew shook his head. “It’s fine. I really shouldn’t even be sitting here like this. I’m looking for my brother.”

“How young is he?” The man asked, shifting to loosen his coat a little.

“Oh,” Matthew said, “No. He’s my age. My twin,” He added. “We just-" Matthew rubbed his hand against his pant leg. “We had an argument. And he’s from out of town.”

The man nodded his head.

“He left his coat, and his gloves,” Matthew continued, tracing the stitching of the coat that lay draped across his lap. “And he’s not- He doesn’t really do well with the cold. Hates it actually. Loves Christmas but hates winter. Well…” Matthew continued, “Usually that is. This year he’s not really… not doing so well. So I brought him up here.” 

The man glanced his way. “So you’re trying to cheer him up for the holidays you say?” 

Matthew glanced over towards the old man. “Christmas is his favorite time of the year. Even more than his birthday, and he goes crazy then. It’s just-" 

“You want to fix things for him. For Christmas?” 

Matthew nodded his head, thinking there was perhaps something that was being left unsaid.

“And your plans for after that?”

“After?”

“It might just be a short thing. Maybe he’ll snap out of it in a week or two even. But you say he doesn’t do well with winter. Realistically, do you really think this will stop on the twenty-sixth?” 

Matthew frowned, inwardly bristling and wanting desperately to tell him the same thing’s he’d been telling himself for the past week… the things he admittedly wanted to keep telling himself. That he’d just heard his brother wrong. That yes, of course things would go back to normal. If he could just get his brother cheered up then he’d be fine and everything would be alright. Al would be the same as always and Matthew could keep living in a world where his brother was loud and obnoxious and never acted… never got…

Why couldn’t he just say the word?

A little voice whispered, nastily in his head, ‘Because that Alfred scares you.’ 

He tried to lock down that thought, push it away as hard as he could. 

“I can’t do anything for him,” Matthew said in a cracking voice, everything from the previous week suddenly rising to the surface. “No matter what I-" He shook his head. “This isn’t something I can-"

The man looked over at him, and rested a hand on his shoulder. “What looks like a failure to someone might look like a lifeline to someone else. You’ve just got to be brave enough to keep trying.” 

Matthew shook his head, staring down at his hands. “I don’t know if I am.”

“Perhaps then, that’s something you’ll have to find.” 

* * *

“Long way down, don’t you think?” 

Alfred stood, leaning against the metal railing of the bridge looking over the river. The wind picked up, gusting around his head, sending needle-sharp cold into his neck. He shivered even harder than he had been, and reached up, looking for his… Matthew’s scarf. He winced. Gone somewhere between the bridge and nowhere. He shut his eyes, saw it flying off into the night, lost in the dark. Thought maybe if he just let go… “Probably.”

His hand tightened against he railing as he saw, with his mind’s eye, the water below, as cold and dark as the night around him. 

A hand gripped onto his wrist. 

Alfred opened his eyes to see a concerned face, bright eyes lined with wrinkles. He smiled weakly, and the hand on his wrist loosened. “You here to give me the George Bailey treatment?” 

The old man looked at him with a sideways smile. “Not if I can help it. Think that’s a bit beyond me.” 

Alfred shrugged, “Not out for your wings then.”

“Well, I’m no angel, but I know a person in trouble when I see them.” 

“Don’t worry,” Alfred said shaking his head. He waved towards the river flowing below them, “It wouldn’t w-work anyway.” He tried to clamp down on his chattering teeth.

The old man looked over towards him, worry written on his face. “You say that like you’ve got experience.” 

Alfred just shrugged. 

The man sighed, leaning only the railing, “Young person like you shouldn’t.” 

Alfred glanced over at the old man. “I’m older than I look.” 

The man just nodded. “So what are you doing here? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Suppose I did?” 

The man shrugged. “Then I’d probably be asking anyway. Looks like you could use an ear. Figure this old one’s just as good as the next.” 

“Hmm.” 

To his credit the old man didn’t say anything. Just stood there looking down at the river. Maybe that’s the reason Alfred suddenly found the words flying out of his mouth.

“I was a j-jerk. I know he was just trying to-" He stopped and glanced over at the old man, realizing the guy had no clue what he was talking about. He turned back towards the river, watching the way the water swirled against the ice on the edges. “I’m visiting my brother for Christmas. K-kind of. He dragged me up here. To be honest I was just planning on ignoring the holiday this year.”

“Hmm?” 

“It just… doesn’t feel worth it.” He swallowed. “It just seems like everything t-takes so much effort and…“ He felt himself pulled forward, like his heart weighed more than he could hold by himself. He leaned fully against of the bridge, letting it hold his weight. The edge pressed into his stomach painfully, but he felt so tired.

“Sounds like a good brother.” 

Alfred shrugged. “He cares I guess. I just-" He paused a moment to get his own thoughts in order. “I’m okay. Really. I’ve taken care of myself for a long t-time.” 

The man nodded, sagely. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do it on your own.”

“Hmph. I’ve d-done okay so far.” He shoved himself up off the bridge railing. “I don’t see why anyone should care right now. Just c-cause it’s Christmas and all. What’s so damn special about Christmas anyway?”

“You sound, to me, like someone who knows very well what’s special about Christmas.” 

“What the hell do you know anyway?” And he turned to walk away. 

“A great deal.” The old man’s voice sounded tired and soft. “Sorry America.” 

Alfred froze mid-step, alarm rushing through him. And then he felt the ground disappear and he knew no more.


	6. Chapter 6

Snowflakes fell around him gently, large and soft like feathers. They stuck to his hair and tickled his nose before melting one by one. Trees surrounded him, large, thick-trunked things that dwarfed him, clustering tight and chaotic. 

They were totally unfamiliar. 

He stood there wondering where he was, staring out into the dimmed light of the forest, realizing he hadn’t a clue of how he’d gotten there in the first place, or where he’d been before that either. It was as if everything up until that moment had been wiped clean. 

As if in response, a gust of wind pushed through the forest and sent the once soft snow flying like projectiles into his face. He brought his arms up to defend his stinging eyes and caught a glimpse of his hands. As the wind battered around him, whipping at his hair and chilling the tips of his ears, he stared at his small fingers, which were reddening with the cold. He flexed them, transfixed by the small digits. Were those really his? He stretched his arms out in front of him, when the wind died down, staring. Somehow it didn’t feel right. _He_ didn’t feel right, he realized, looking down at himself. Were his arms always so short? 

He tried to examine himself more fully, turning around this way and that, spinning for a minute like a dog chasing its tail, until he tripped over his own feet and fell over into the cold white surrounding him. His hands burned at the contact with the snow, which stuck to his clothes as he stood up, and he quickly stuffed them up under his arms. Why didn’t he have gloves? And where was his coat? The impression of warm worn leather and a soft fuzzy collar came to his mind before swiftly fading. He moved his hands for long enough to rub his arms briskly before returning them and stomped his feet in the snow, noticing the way his toes tingled just a little. He wiggled them inside his sneakers as he peered around. 

“Hello?” he called. His voice came out high and soft and his hand flew to his throat. Did it always sound like that? It seemed odd. It wasn’t really wrong, but like something he hadn’t heard in a very long time. “Hello?” he called again, a little louder. “Can anyone hear me?” 

The forest was silent, save for a soft bird call and the crunch of snow as he fidgeted. His breathing picked up as he looked around once again. He couldn’t see signs of any other person. He looked forlornly down at his feet. There weren’t even tracks to show him where to go, where he had been before his sudden awakening. The area around him, save for the large spot where he had fallen, was untouched spotless white. 

He shivered. 

It was getting dark, the clouds overhead taking on a gray-blue tone and looming low to the ground, as if they thought to come ever closer and swallow him whole. 

The wind picked up again, tearing into him through his shirt. 

He needed to hide. 

From what he wasn’t certain, but it would be dark soon and it would only get colder. He shivered, only partially from the chill. 

He glanced around, spotting a small tree, which was really more a bush than anything. As he sat down underneath, pulling his legs up to his chest, the prickly needles scratched at the top of his head. 

“H-Hello?” He called again, hoping perhaps someone would hear him, would find him before... 

Surely someone would. He couldn’t be out all by himself, right? Why would he be by himself? Hands shoved firmly back under his arms, he gripped hold of his shirt. He had to be close to home. Someone would come. His eyes pricked and he brought a hand up to rub the moisture away roughly. His brows furrowed. He couldn’t cry. The tears continued to prick at his eyes, unhindered by his thoughts. He couldn’t cry. He could take care of himself. He was a big boy. 

He winced at that thought. It felt wrong. It was all wrong. He felt small and scared and somehow that was all very _very_ wrong. And the wrongness of it all just made things worse and made the tears come more insistently, trickling down his cheeks in chilled trails, burning along with his embarrassment when the wind whipped up under the tree. He leaned his head down on his knees and sniffled, wishing he had a tissue, and wishing he wasn’t crying at all, and wishing he could go home, and wishing desperately that he could remember where that was. He was wishing so hard that he didn’t even hear the footsteps as they approached him. 

“Hello?” came a soft, yet strong voice.

He raised his head up with a gasp, his head almost hitting the trunk behind him, and met the gaze of a young woman with long brown hair and green eyes. She was kneeling in front of him. 

“You poor thing,” she said, reaching out to feel his cheeks. “How long have you been out here?”

He shrugged and inched back against the scratchy tree trunk. The hand on his cheek lowered down to his shoulder. 

“You’re frozen solid.” She looked at him for a moment before holding out her hand “Come on. You’re coming back with me. This is no place for a little boy.”

He looked at her questioningly for a moment. He knew well enough that kids weren’t suppose to go with strangers. But it was cold, and he had no where else to go. Plus, he couldn’t quite explain it, but she didn’t really feel like a stranger. He placed his hand in hers and let her help him up from underneath the tree. Her smile slipped slightly and she knelt there for a moment in front of him, holding his hands in between her own. Then, before he knew what was happening and before he could protest, heavy warmth enveloped him in the form of her coat. He watched her as she worked on fastening it firmly, unable to take his eyes away. Her dress was bright green and red and a holly sprig was tucked in her hair, behind her softly pointed ear. She felt different somehow, as if happiness flowed out from her. She smelled, he realized, like sugar cookies.

“W-what are you?” He asked.

She frowned for a second, and then smiled. “I’m an elf,” she replied. “A Christmas elf. But aren’t you suppose to ask who I am first?” she asked. At first he thought she was mad, but then caught the quick wink and noticed she was still smiling, and he smiled back at her.

“Okay, who are you?” He asked as she straightened back up and took his hand in hers. 

“I’m Elizabeta.” She said as they began walking. “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

He frowned and looked down, stumbling in the snow a little. Whenever he tried to remember anything his head felt like it was in a fog.

Elizabeta looked down at him, smiling gently. “Don’t worry about that for now. Just keep moving. We’ll be there soon”

* * *

It didn’t take long for them to reach a small log cabin, with soft lights shining from the windows and casting a golden glow on the surrounding snow. A soft billow of smoke came from the chimney. Elizabeta knocked twice on the door, then after a moment a third time before reaching down to turn the knob. They were taken by surprise however when the door was jerked open in front of them and a rifle was struck out, inches from the elf’s face. Her smile dropped as she looked into dark emerald eyes cloaked beneath thick furrowed eyebrows. The man in front of them was dressed in a worn red and black uniform. 

He stepped back, without thought, as his mind was suddenly filled with an image of the same angry eyes obscured by the rain as they stared at him across a muddy field. He darted behind Elizabeta, gripping onto the soft, cold fabric of her dress. 

“Good to see you too, Arthur,” she said. “If you would please put that gun down, I’d like to come inside. We have a visitor.”

He dared to peak out from behind Elizabeta’s back to look up at the frightening figure once again. The man in uniform, Arthur, kept his gun up and glanced about behind Elizabeta before finally looking down at him with a cold glare. He quickly pulled himself back again, pressing his face into her lower back. Elizabeta reached her hand back to pet his head momentarily before moving forward. They slipped into the house, warmth surrounding him more fully even than the coat had.

“Really Arthur, was that necessary?” He heard above him.

“If you had knocked correctly, then it wouldn’t have happened,” Arthur replied, as the door shut firmly. 

“If you‘d quit changing the code every day it wouldn’t be an issue.” Soft hands reached back once more and pulled him around to her front. He stubbornly kept his face hidden in her side.

“That’s enough,” came another voice. “There is no sense in arguing with him Elizabeta, he is stubborn as an ox. However,” he heard wood scraping on the floor and footfalls approaching them, “I do believe introductions need to be made. Who is this?”

“This, Francis,” she said, turning him around to face a man with long blonde hair and a scruffy chin, “Is a friend I met in the woods.” 

“A friend? Did it never cross your mind that he could be a spy for the Dark?” Arthur leaned up against the door with his arms crossed. “He’s used every trick he can think of against us and it doesn’t cross your mind that he could use the form of this little-"

The scruffy chinned one- Francis, said, “Oh stop being so dramatic Arthur, can’t you see you scare the poor thing.” 

He felt his face flush in embarrassment as Francis patted his head. “I-I’m not scared,” he said, stepping away from Elizabeta and looking up at the taller figures. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Somehow I seriously doubt that,” Arthur replied, looking down at him. The angry (no, not angry, stern, a voice supplied in his mind) eyes stared down and he felt himself drawing back. He forced himself not to take a step away. But then, just as he was about to pull himself back to Elizabeta, or even to Francis (who, strangely, like Elizabeta, felt way too familiar to be a stranger) the eyes softened just a little and the mud covered field blended, to his confusion, with a warm fireplace and a painted box. He blinked and rubbed his head. It was all making him dizzy. 

Arthur sighed. “Tell me lad,” the man said as he squatted in front of him, looking him square in the eye, “What’s your name?”

He shrugged and rubbed his head more.

“Well, you have to have one. We can’t just call you little boy.” The man’s head tilted to the side, as he looked him up and down. “Although for as frosted over as you are we could very well call you little boy blue.”

He shook his head slowly, beginning to tell them once again that he couldn’t remember anything, but his thoughts were interrupted by a vowel.

“A… A-” he started, then stopped. He couldn’t think of anything more than that sound. 

Arthur rolled his eyes and stood up again. 

Elizabeta, however, tapped her chin and began listing, “Allan, Adler, Andrew-"

“Antonio,” supplied Francis, smiling.

“Don’t say that name. I don’t want to hear it,” grumbled Arthur, who had sat down at the table.

“Just because you do not get along with the stable-master does not mean I-”

“Oh stop it you two,” Elizabeta reprimanded. “Now, let’s see. Atticus, Ash, Aloysius”

“Aloysius?”

“That’s-" He interrupted, upon feeling a burst of recognition. Then he sighed, as it left. He shook his head, “That’s not-"

“Alfred.” 

The name came out like a shot. Alfred- because yes, that was it- looked up to stare at Arthur. 

Arthur’s own eyes were wide, as if he had shocked even himself. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Now that that’s settled, perhaps you could tell us what you were doing out in the forest to begin with.”

Alfred bit his lip and frowned as he continued to rub his head, where an ache was forming above his right temple. A pair of hands pushed against his back, directing him over to the table.

“Now now, it’s okay. This isn’t an interrogation.” Elizabeta glared at Arthur as she helped Alfred up into a chair. Arthur glared back. “We can worry about that later. First we need to get you warmed up.”

“Oui. And this should be just the thing.” Francis approached and sat a bowl down, filled with steaming creamy soup, in front of him. The scent floated up to his nose and Alfred suddenly realized just how hungry he was. He picked up the spoon and took a bite, swiftly opening his mouth in an o and blowing. He didn’t focus much on the flavor, being distracted by the way the soup threatened to scald his tongue, but the heat was a welcome change from the cold he had been experiencing shortly before. He swallowed and smiled as he felt the warm soup travel down, warming him from the inside out.

“I am afraid it is rather simple,” Francis said with a frown as he sat down a few pieces of freshly baked bread. “If I were only back in my kitchen,” He trailed off with a sigh. “The supplies here in this cabin are so meager.”

“If you don’t shut up about that I’m going to put you on guard duty and do the cooking myself.” 

Francis paled considerable. “Do not threaten us like that. I would like to live to see the castle again.”

“You could guard the cabin perfectly well.”

“I refer to your cooking.”

“I’ll have you know-"

Alfred smiled and swung his feet back and forth, feeling a weight give somewhere inside him. Something about the entire scene- the cabin, the meal, the bickering- set him at ease. They were more impressions than images or solid memories, but he took comfort in it all the same. 

“And keep your hands off me you-"

“More please.” Alfred held up the empty bowl, grinning at Francis.

‘Already?” The cook turned to Alfred. “Did you even taste it?”

He nodded vigorously. 

Francis picked up a napkin and dabbed at the corner of Alfred’s mouth. “Your manners are atrocious,” he said, with a smile. Then, after a second, the smile disappeared as he leaned forward a bit, studying Al’s face. 

Alfred found himself shrinking back. “What?”

“You look…” Francis began to say, and then he shook his head. “It is no matter.” He smiled once again, and turned back to the stove, then after a moment, walked back over with a refilled bowl and another slice of bread. “Here. And try to take your time.” 

Alfred began to dig in again, hungrily, but with a glance towards Francis he attempted to slow down just a little. Instead he turned part of his attention to the man sitting across the table from him. The soldier sat glaring at the fire, chin in hand. The light flickered, causing shadows to play in the man’s messy blonde hair. Despite the confusion that erupted in his head every time he looked at the man, or perhaps because of it, he felt drawn to him in a way he couldn’t explain. He didn’t realize he had been staring until Arthur turned around and glared at him coldly. 

“I’d like to know what you find so fascinating.”

Alfred flushed slightly and paused, piece of soup covered bread halfway to his mouth and unsure of what to say. “You have really big eyebrows.”

“The better to repulse you with mon cher,” Francis said as he set a plate of cookies and a cup of milk down in front of him.

Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed. “My features are none of yo-"

“They’re not repulsive,” Alfred interrupted. Arthur and Francis turned to him, one amused, the other still obviously irritable. “They’re just big and fuzzy.”

“Excuse me,” came a small voice from a door on the far side of the room. “Is it safe to come out now?”

“Yes, yes, it is fine. Arthur was simply being paranoid again,” said Francis. “And I am afraid we had forgotten you were in there Matthew.”

“And me too!” A small colorful figure about a foot tall bounced out of the door. 

“Yes Feli, as amazing as that is, you too.”

“Ooh, who is this Francis?” It said, hopping over to the table and climbing up on the chair to sit in Alfred’s lap. “Hello. I’m Feliciano. But you can call me Feli. I’m head clown in charge of training new toys. Do you like balls? I like balls. Bright colorful ones that I can roll on and-"

“That’s enough Feli. Calm down,” said Elizabeta as she picked up the toy and set him down on the floor. “He gets a little excited around new people, especially children.”

A soft clearing of a throat brought Alfred’s attention downward to where a small white polar bear was tugging at the bottom of Francis’ pants.

“Oh. And this little ball of fluff is Matthew,” he said, picking up the stuffed bear. 

“H-hello,” Matthew whispered.

Alfred stared with wide eyes, then glanced down at Feliciano who was doing little flips on the floor. “Y-you can talk.”

Matthew nodded shyly. “We can all talk. Humans just don’t listen. Except for children, sometimes.” 

Alfred smiled at the bear a moment before frowning, struck with an idea. “But if you’re toys, and Elizabeta’s a Christmas elf?”

“Ah, I see what you are wondering,” Francis said. “And the answer is yes. We work for Santa. I,” he said with a flourish, “am his chef, head of the kitchen and keeper of the Christmas compendium.”

Alfred’s eyes widened even further, “Christmas compe- compe-"

“Really Francis?” Elizabeta sighed. “Compendium Alfred. Santa’s recipe book. Francis just likes being a little grand sometimes.”

“A little grand? Of course I would be. That book contains the best seasonal recipes in the world, from Bûche de Noël and gingerbread to mince pies and tamales.” 

Elizabeta just smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes Francis. No one in the North Pole can compete.” 

“Don’t agree with him. You’ll just make his head swell even more.”

“You are one to talk. I am surprised that your giant black puff ball of a hat still fits.”

“That big grump over there,” Elizabeta motioned towards Arthur, who had turned in his seat, away from everyone else and facing the fire, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, “Is Arthur Kirkland, head of Santa’s guards and commander of NPP, North Pole Patrol.”

“And you’re an elf?” Alfred asked Elizabeta.

“We are all elves. Elizabeta is the only one of us that works in the toy shop however,” said Francis. 

“But,” Alfred’s eyebrows furrowed a little, trying to process all of the information, “It’s only a little bit til Christmas…” he wasn’t certain how he knew that, but he was certain of it, even if he wasn’t certain about anything else. “If you’re all elves… if you’re all Santa’s elves what are you doing here?”

The elves looked at each other, exchanging uncertain glances.

“Well-" Elizabeta began.

“Santa’s castle has been taken over by the Dark, which wants to the turn the whole world into ice.”

Feliciano’s outburst drew the attention of everyone in the room. The sound of the crackling fire rose up around them in the silence. 

“Ah. Well… yes. That is essentially what has happened,” said Francis, scratching his chin. He pulled up a chair to the table and sat down, still holding Matthew. The small bear’s white body had blended in with Francis’ white chef’s outfit, making him all but disappear until his white fur was contrasted with the dark wood of the table. 

Arthur stared at Feliciano, who seemed unfazed by the glare. “Really, Feliciano, you can’t just blurt out things like that.” 

“But yes. Unfortunately there was an attack on the castle and the Dark managed to take control,” said Elizabeta, who pulled up a seat at the table as well. Feliciano climbed up the chair and took a place on her lap.

“The Dark?” Alfred asked. 

“Cold hearted b-" Arthur halted suddenly as Elizabeta shot him a glare. “being. It’s been trying to gain control of Santa’s magic for years now. Still don’t know how it managed that infiltration…” He paused, rubbing at his arm absentmindedly. “Managed to turn the guard…”

Elizabeta glanced towards Arthur worriedly. “With the guard incapacitated and the rest of us taken by surprise, we couldn’t really fight back all that well. A few of us managed to escape here, but… the others are locked away in the castle. And Santa-" She shook her head. “We don’t know. If he wasn’t alright his magic wouldn’t still be protecting this cabin, but…” she stopped, biting her lip, a haunted look appearing in her eyes.

“But now we’re the only ones left,” Francis said. 

An oppressive weight had settled over the group clustered at the table, the warm ease having been driven away.

Arthur cleared his throat and glanced over at Alfred. “Yes, well. I dare say by now he’s sufficiently warmed up. Perhaps it would be best if the lad got some rest.” 

“But what about-" 

“I believe for once you are right,” Francis said, sharing a look with Arthur. “There will be plenty of time for talk tomorrow morning, but it is growing late.”

“But-"

Arthur’s eyebrows raised, and something in the expression let Alfred know it was pointless to argue. 

* * *

The small room where the toys had been hiding earlier was small. The single candle Elizabeta had brought in illuminated most of the space, showing a small bed, a side table, and a chair. The room was scarcely big enough to fit those three pieces. 

“Now,” Elizabeta said, looking him up and down. “You’re about… this big,” she said, holding her hands out. 

Alfred was just about to ask what she was talking about when a cool glowing blue appeared above her hands. 

“It’s pretty cold out. Flannel’s probably best.” Soft sparkling lights danced about in the blue glow and slowly a solid form began to appear across Elizabeta’s outstretched arms. It draped softly against them, a longer piece, which Alfred soon realized was a sleeve, hanging down. 

The blue glow faded, leaving him blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness once again. 

“There,” she said smiling, “This should fit.” Elizabeta laid the soft fabric in his arms. It was warm, as if just taken out of a dryer. “But it can be readjusted, if needed.”

He nodded and smiled. Magical pajamas. Or at least magicked pajamas. And despite the dim light, he could vaguely see that it was plaid, red and blue, two of his favorite colors. 

“Well,” she said, still standing in front of him, her arms now crossed. “Go ahead and try it on.” 

He looked down and scuffed his foot slightly on the floor, fisting the still warm, but cooling, fabric. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m turning around.” She said, as she twisted away from him. “See.”

“No peaking?”

“Promise. No peaking.” Elizabeta laughed and Alfred smiled. He wondered if all elves laughed like that, as if they were twinkling, or if that was just the nature of this particular elf. It wasn’t in the sound, he realized as he changed into the warm flannel, but the feel. Maybe he could get the others to laugh later, he thought with a smile as he pulled off his socks. ‘Although’, he thought, ‘Francis might be easier than Arthur’. 

“Okay. All done,” he said, hopping up onto the bed and reaching down for Matthew and Feliciano who were trying to climb up as well. 

“O-" Elizabeta started to say as she turned around to see the blanket Feliciano was climbing go sliding onto the floor, Feliciano with it, matching the pile of clothes Alfred had left. She walked over, shaking her head. “I really don’t know which of you is worse.” She bent over and picked up the blanket, which Feliciano was still hanging onto. 

“Whee!” The clown swung from one corner, kicking his feet back and forth, then dropped down onto the bed, rolling to a stop with his back against Matthew’s tummy. “Fratello would say it was me,” he said, lying almost upside down and looking up at Elizabeta. 

“Fratello? Toys have siblings?” Alfred said as he picked up Matthew, who was rubbing at his stomach, and set him in his lap, letting Feliciano tumble the rest of the way onto his back. 

“Of course we do. Lovino, that’s my brother, and I were cut from the same fabric. Alfred.” Feliciano said, quickly sitting up, “Do you have a brother?” 

Alfred looked down at his hands. “I... I don’t know.” Faces popped into his mind, but just as quickly faded, before he could even begin to grasp them. “I don’t know much of anything right now.”

“Oh, I know what you mean.” Feliciano hopped up and darted up to the pillows beside Alfred as Elizabeta threw the blanket back on the bed. “Fratello always says I have a head full of stuffing. But I just tell him ‘Of course I do. I have a head full of stuffing and an arm full of stuffing, and a leg, and-" Feliciano rolled back onto the blanket, landing dead center on a quilt square before rolling to another and sitting up. “And then he yells at me.”

Alfred frowned and hugged the bear sitting in his lap. “That doesn’t seem very nice.”

“That’s just how he is,” Feliciano smiled up at him. “It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.” 

Alfred nodded. “I guess.”

“Oh, oh!” Feliciano bounced. “Maybe you have a brother that yells at you too!” 

Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped when the smile faded from Feliciano’s face. 

“Elizabeta,” Feliciano said softly, “do you think they’re okay? Ludwig and Fratello and the others?”

Elizabeta looked up from where she was folding the discarded clothes and sat down on the bed. She patted her lap, motioning Feliciano forward. “Clowns aren’t supposed to frown, silly,” she said as he settled in. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably working just as hard there to set things right as we are here.” 

“Who’s Ludwig, Feli?” Alfred asked.

“Hmm?”Feliciano looked over at Alfred, his face lighting up once again. “He’s my friend. I work with him in the toy shop. He’s the head toymaker.”

“More like taskmaster,” Elizabeta laughed. “Him and his schedules and quotas. He does keep everything running smoothly though. If it weren’t for him I doubt we’d ever get the whole thing done… He was here with us until a few days ago- the last time we tried to go the castle he and his brother…” Elizabeta looked off to the side for a moment, before turning back. “Well, that’s enough of that.” She said, lifting Feliciano off of her lap and placing him at the head of the bed with Alfred and Matthew. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.” 

Just then a knock came at the door. 

“Come in,” Elizabeta said, turning around.

To Alfred’s surprise Arthur was the one standing in the doorway. “This should be ready,” he said to Elizabeta, holding up a small object. 

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten,” Elizabeta said, standing up. “Go ahead Arthur.” 

The guard looked vaguely uncomfortable, then stepped forward. “Right.” He sat down on the bed, beside Matthew and held the small bundle of red fabric in his hand. “This should help with your little problem.” He lifted the corners of the fabric off and pulled out a collar made of red ribbon, with a round silvery pendant attached. “We were going to wait until Christmas. But with the current situation…” he paused, “I thought it might be better given now.” He moved close enough to reach around the bear’s neck, fastening the collar and shifting the pendant around to the front. 

Matthew reached up to touch it with his paw. “Thank you.”

Arthur sighed. “It’s not much, just something some of the elves had been working on. But after everything occurred. Well… I may have put a little more magic into it. It’s still only got enough to use once, but it could help you in a tight spot. Just make sure you save it for when you really need it… and for when have ample space.” 

“Huh?” The bear asked, confused.

Arthur shook his head. “Don’t worry so much about that,” he aid, then added, “Hopefully you won’t have to use it at all and we can adjust it to make the magic a little more…” he paused, tapping his arm, “constant.” 

Matthew nodded, looking down at his paws. 

Arthur touched Matthew’s head lightly. “Just remember, if you should need it focus on the talisman and it should do its thing.” 

Matthew smiled at Arthur, who after a moment, returned the smile with a small one of his own. It was short lived and was gone by the time he stood, turning around to leave. 

“He smiled,” Matthew whispered to Elizabeta, after the door closed. 

She just nodded, “We haven’t lost him yet.”

Before Alfred could ask what she meant, she turned around to face him. “Now,” she said, “It’s time for bed,” and she gave him a look that told Alfred it was best not to argue with her. 

He scooted down in the bed and pulled up the covers around him and the toys while Elizabeta picked the candle up off of the side table and walked away.

“’Night,” she said as she left the room. 

The door was closed only a moment before Alfred felt a movement beside him, as Feliciano climbed out from underneath the covers and let himself drop to the floor. 

“Feli-,” came a muffled voice. Matthew crawled from underneath the blankets and out of Alfred’s arms to lean over the bed. “Feli. Where are you going?” he whispered.

“They’re being quiet,” he answered, as if that explained everything.

Alfred pushed the covers down and sat up. “What do you-"

“Feli,” Matthew whispered as loud as he dared. “Come back.”

But Feliciano was already walking towards the door. “If they’re being quiet they’re probably talking about stuff they don’t want us to hear. And I want to know. I’m a toy, not a-" he turned back around to face Alfred and Matthew, catching himself. “I’m tired of them keeping secrets.” He let his head loll to the left as he looked at the bear. “Veh, Matthew, don’t you want to know?”

“Y-yes, but-" Matthew was cut off as Alfred picked Matthew up and got out of the bed, “A-Alfred. Wait. We’re not-".

“Shh,” Alfred said, setting Matthew down beside Feliciano and tiptoeing over to the door, pressing his ear to it. The sound coming through was muffled, but after a moment he was able to pick out voices. 

“I don’t know what to do. There’s only a few days until Christmas,” said Elizabeta, sounding sad and tired.

“What else is there to do? We have attempted a rescue before, and we gained nothing, not even information. The Dark got more out of it than we did,” said Francis.

“Yes, but perhaps,”

“Non,” Francis replied, “I am afraid this Christmas is a loss.”

Alfred wished he could shake his head, do something to protest what was being said. Instead he kept his ear firmly to the door, hoping someone on the other side would do it for him.

“But if Santa doesn’t show up this Christmas, then all of those children…” Elizabeta trailed off. 

“Yes disappointed-"

“Not just-" came Arthur’s voice, loud enough that even Matthew, who still stood a few feet away would be able to hear the noise, if not make out the words. There was a quick duet of shushing, then Arthur continued, quieter, but still as insistent. “Not just disappointed, you idiot. Disillusioned. They would stop believing. Do you know what repercussions that could have? Do you even realize how much of our world is held together by that belief?”

Elizabeta sighed. “Too much.” 

“That’s exactly what it wants. If something isn’t done…” Arthur trailed off. “We’ve got to try again.”

“I am telling you mon ami, there is no way. And I hardly doubt you are one to be leading us into battle at this point.”

“I haven’t a clue as to what you me- Fran-Francis unhand me,” There was a quick scuffle and the sound of shifting fabric.

“This,” Francis said with quiet force, “Is what I mean.” Then the voice softened. “Can you really pretend to be all right? You may not have noticed, but we have been able to tell. You have not been the same since.” There was a pause, silent and stretched. “Arthur, we will not lose you too.” 

Alfred tried to press himself closer to the door, wishing he had x-ray vision.

“Francis is right Arthur,” said Elizabeta, “It’s getting worse.” 

There was the sound of wood scraping on the floor. “I can’t believe you two,” Arthur said, “Giving up already. And all because… there’s no sense to it.”

“Arthur, let us drop this for the moment,” said Francis, “We can talk about this when things are less…” There was a pause, and for a moment Alfred wondered if they would say anything else before-

“Yes,” Arthur relented, sounding defeated. “I suppose-"

“Good,” said Elizabeta, “Now Francis, did you remember to get the firewood?”

“Yes, yes,” replied Francis “Of co-"

At this point Alfred pulled his ear away from the door. He stared at it, as if that would take back everything he’d heard. 

“What were they saying, Alfred?” asked Matthew, quietly.

“Not good stuff.” He replied, walking back over towards the bed.

“Like?”

“Like they’re giving up,” he said, stomach clenching, “But if they don’t rescue Santa lots of children will be disappointed, and they’ll stop believing, and-"

Feliciano’s eyes grew wide, “But-" he said loudly, “but that would be the end of everythin-" Matthew clamped a paw over Feliciano’s mouth. 

“Quiet,” the bear pleaded, being swung around by Feliciano’s flailing. “They’ll hear us.”  
Alfred rushed over and put his hands on Feliciano, stilling him.

Feliciano pushed at the paw at his mouth, “Bmph, mhph,” he said, quieter than before, but still as frantic. He finally managed to shove Matthew’s paw away. “But we’ll all be doomed.” Feliciano whispered. “Santa, and the castle, and the elves. Elizabeta and Ludwig.” If stuffed clowns could cry his fabric face would have been soaked. “They’ll all be gone.” 

Matthew sat down with a soft thump, looking shaken and forlorn, “And what will happen to us? We’ll be-"

“Fine! Everything will be fine!” Alfred whispered, staring down at the toys. “And you know why? We’re going to fix everything.”

“What?” both toys asked, Matthew sounding panicked and Feliciano sounding uncertain, but hopeful. 

“If they aren’t going to rescue Santa, then we will!”

“But-"

“But what?” asked Alfred, who was already walking over to the chair, where his clothes had been folded and Elizabeta’s coat hung. 

“But it’s impossible!” cried Matthew, who was looking at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Nothing’s impossible.” Alfred said. 

“But it would take a miracle to rescue Santa. And look at us. We’re just a couple of toys and a little boy.”

“So we’ll make a miracle!” Alfred said, grinning. He had given up on the somewhat damp clothes and was pulling on Elizabeta’s coat over his new pajamas. 

“Alfred you don’t make miracles. They just happen.”

“Even a miracle needs a hand,” he said smiling down at the doubtful toy.

“Do you really think we could?” asked Feliciano who was walking over to join the two of them.

“Yeah. I do.” Alfred had pulled on his socks and shoes and was examining the window. 

“But-" 

“So who’s with me?” Alfred pulled the window open, letting a gust of cold air in.

The two toys remained still for a moment, looking doubtfully at each other. And then Feliciano turned towards Alfred and nodded. “Me!” he said, bouncing up and down on his toes.

Alfred placed his hands on the windowsill, then looked back over his shoulder at the bear. “So how ‘bout it? You with us?”

Matthew looked back at the door. “I don’t-" His gaze turned back to the window, at the boy now sitting on the windowsill and clown climbing up his shoulder. The bear growled softly. “Someone’s gotta be a voice of reason,” he said and walked over to them. “Pull me up.”

Alfred grinned down and lifted him, before jumping out the window, into the cold world outside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, everyone. I should have said something about the fantasy elements of the story sooner; probably should have somehow put that into the summary. I’ll try to fix that, at least. I realize now, in hindsight, how jarring the transition probably was. During the re-writing process I had a few scenes that would have hinted at the current part of the story, but I deleted them because of a variety of issues. I’ll probably go back, some time after the story is completed, and see if I can put a few of those back in- see if that helps the flow any. This middle part, which was the bones of the original story pre-rewrite, should be about three more chapters, counting this one- and then it’s back to the regular world. 
> 
> Now, I know some of you were concerned about whether this would lead to a quick-fix for Alfred, a ‘learning the true meaning of Christmas’ thing. My answer is a resounding ‘no.’ That is not at all my intent. The story is about someone dealing with SAD- and there are no quick fixes for that. That problem is not something that’s just going to go away. He’s still going to have to deal with when he gets back to the real world. 
> 
> Once again, sorry for the lack of warning. I understand the new direction of things might not be to everyone’s taste. Thanks everyone, for reading and giving the story a shot, and thanks for the feedback.

The night was still, save for the sound of feet shuffling through the snow. Flurries had started to fall shortly after they’d left the warmth of the cabin and had picked up into a shower, covering Alfred’s head in a white dusting.

"My feet are cold," he muttered.

"Don’t start whining now," replied Matthew, who was held by Alfred, muzzle pressed against the boys chest. "It’s going to get a lot colder than this."

Alfred winced. He hadn’t thought about that part. "I was wondering about that," he said. "Santa lives at the north pole, right?"

Matthew nodded, his head rubbing against Elizabeta’s coat. 

"But the North Pole doesn’t have trees," he continued, glancing around at the forest which surrounded them. "So how far away are we?" 

"Oh, that. Don’t worry, it’s not that far."

Alfred blinked, still confused about the distances involved. If they hadn’t even reached the tree line yet, how could they be anywhere near Santa’s castle?

"My stuffing’s getting wet," moaned Feliciano, interrupting Alfred’s thoughts. The clown was sitting on his shoulder and clinging to his head. 

Alfred glanced over to him, turning his head slightly. "You aren’t even on the ground. I’m the one walking in the stuff." 

"Yes," said Feliciano as he gripped tighter. His balance had been shifted by the movement and he clung to Alfred’s hair tightly, tugging at it. "But you’re warm, and that’s making the snow on you melt."

"Well, what am I suppose to do about that? Freeze?" he asked, in a flare of annoyance.

"Don’t say that," Matthew growled lightly.

"Huh? Why?"

"Just don’t," said Matthew who burrowed himself more deeply into Elizabeta’s coat.

"Alfred,” Feliciano began, “The Dark-"

Snap.

Alfred froze, holding his breath, then darted behind the nearest tree. He stood, silent, and, along with the other two, peaked out from behind it.

The woods were quiet, with no sign of movement, save for the falling snowflakes and wind whistling quietly through the branches. 

"Sorry," said Alfred, letting out a breath as he turned back around. "Just thought I hear-"

Alfred jumped when he saw the pair of icy green eyes staring back at him.

Arthur glowered down at them, an imposing figure with his arms crossed and a rifle slung across his back. "What are you doing out here?" he asked. 

"N-nothing," Matthew stuttered. "We were just-"

"We’re rescuing Santa!" shouted Feliciano gleefully.

Alfred didn’t think it was possible for Arthur’s expression to grow colder. He winced as he was proven wrong. 

Arthur didn’t say a word, simply grabbing hold of Alfred’s hand and pulling back in the direction they had just came from. 

"Hey, Arthur. Stop a-" Alfred planted his feet into the snow and tugged on the soldiers arm. His eyes widened as Arthur’s upper half jerked back. Arthur turned around, incredulous, and raised an eyebrow as Alfred smirked up at him, well, smirked at him for the split second before Arthur grabbed him, tucking him under an arm, and started walking. 

"Hey! No fair! Arthur." Alfred wriggled about as much as he could, trying to break Arthur’s hold and wincing as Feliciano swung about from his hair. "Arthur! You were the one who said it was so important to rescue Santa! Why are you stopping us?”

"Because it is certainly not a job for little boys and toys," said Arthur, with some difficulty. With Alfred’s attempts at freeing himself he was constantly having to readjust his hold. "And you were not meant to hear that exchange. Sometimes things are suppose to be between adults, thus the closed door. And when we were discussing Santa we were referring to the three of us, not the three of you, so you can quit squirming." 

"But Arthur!"

The soldier sighed heavily and stopped, placed him on the ground. He looked him in the eye, hands on his shoulders. "Listen you-"

Alfred met Arthur’s frown with one of his own. "What were _you_ doing out?" 

"I was," Arthur paused, blinking back surprise for a moment. He cleared his throat glancing off to the side, before looking back. "I was coming after you of course."

Feliciano, once again safely perched on Alfred’s shoulder, tugged on Alfred’s ear and nodded his head towards the pack alongside Arthur’s rifle. The two toys and the boy shared a look before Alfred spoke. "We don’t believe you."

Feliciano and Matthew nodded in agreement. The bear said quietly, “You’re a bad liar Arthur.”

Arthur’s face tightened just a little before replying. "It’s none of your business what I’m doing out.” 

“Arthur,” Feliciano said, “You were sneaking out too. You were trying to rescue Santa too, weren’t you?”

Arthur looked off into the woods and sighed. “Yes, I _was_. Now I have to take you lot back to the cabin.”

“No you don’t,” Alfred said. “Just come with us!”

“Now see here! Just because-"

"We’re going with or without you. The longer we stand out here arguing the longer Santa is held prisoner." Alfred turned around and started walking.

"Oh no you don’t!" Arthur walked up to him once again and grabbed Alfred by his shoulders. He directed his eyes towards Feliciano and Matthew. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Honestly, what in the world were the two of you thinking, letting a child run off into the woods on some harebrained mis-thought plan.” 

Alfred crossed his arms. “I would have just gone by myself.” 

“Yes, I don’t doubt it.” He shook his head. “Come on.” And he pushed the child on his way, back towards the cabin. 

A tension was in the air on the way back to the cabin, with even Feliciano being oddly silent. Alfred had just noticed the smoke from the chimney when suddenly Arthur’s arm shot out in front of him. 

“What are-"

“Hush.” Arthur held his hand up to silence them as voices floated up through the trees ahead. 

Before Alfred could think, he was being pulled behind a cluster of bushes.

“Gilbert let go of me!” They could hear Elizabeta’s voice clearly, followed by the slamming of a door. “You don’t want to-" and there was the thudding of a body hitting the ground. 

Alfred was suddenly very aware of the coat he was wearing.

“You said to let go. Now get up,” A new voice said above Elizabeta’s complaints, clipped and sharp. 

“You’re no-"

The door flew open again, and there was an audible scuffle.

“Mon ami,” Francis yelled. “Listen to us. We are-" 

There was a sudden thump and the sound of breath exhaling forcefully. 

“I don’t think I gave you permission to talk to me.” 

“Waiting your orders, sir,” said another voice. Alfred shivered. It wasn’t at all like the first one, which at least still sounded human. This one was cold, and grating, and a little like pieces of ice being dragged against each other. 

“Just take care of this place,” Gilbert said. 

Suddenly there was a silver glow and the air around them grew suddenly colder.

“N-Non!” Francis yelled frantically. “Stop! You d-do no-"

The word cut off suddenly, as if the sound had simply been taken away. 

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Gilbert said, darkly. “He’s better off frozen anyway.”

The air continued to get colder, the silver glow coming closer to them. Arthur hissed a breath in and pulled him in close. He could hear the air around them crackle and the branches around them frosting over. Alfred shut his eyes firmly, taking comfort in the slightly warmer air still between his face and Arthur’s chest, even as the man began to tremble. 

They sat in the bushes, frozen, while the soldiers walked away, pulling Francis and Elizabeta along with them. They scarcely breathed as the crystalline beings, led by a white haired man with frosty pink eyes, came within a few feet of them. Alfred dared to open his eyes as they passed, in time to see the open expression of pain on Francis’ face. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut again, focusing on the last remnants of warmth.

They stayed there even after the forest had gone silent again. It felt like an eternity. Then, suddenly there was a pleasant glowing green, and warmth, melting his frozen muscles. He hadn’t realized how difficult breathing had become until he felt his lungs open more fully. 

After a moment Arthur’s grip on him loosened, and then released, but Alfred didn’t move back away from him. Arthur stood, still bending low, and then pushed him forward, back through their old prints in the snow. 

* * *

Alfred couldn’t tell how long they’d walked, but his already cold and sore feet felt nearly numb and his eyes were starting to droop by the time Arthur pulled a bush away from a rock wall, exposing a large hole. 

“Stay here,” he whispered, pushing them inside. “Move back a ways and stay quiet. Not a sound out of the lot of you. Do you understand me?” 

They nodded and without so much as a backwards glance Arthur took off, back out the cave, leaving them alone in the darkness. 

Alfred shivered, in the silence. Focused on the weight of Matthew in his arms and Feliciano once again on his shoulder, instead of the noticeable lack of light. He’d thought it dark outside, as they were walking through the forest. But in the cave it seemed to have swallowed them whole. Alfred pressed himself back against the wall and closed his eyes. That darkness was at least familiar. And he could pretend he was surrounded by it, was instead just-

The sound of Arthur’s footsteps sent a wave of relief through him. When he opened his eyes though, he saw that the man’s face, illuminated by a green glow from his outstretched hand, was perhaps even more grim than before. “We should be alright,” he said, in a hushed voice.

Alfred had a difficult time believing him. 

The glow off of Arthur’s hand was dimming somewhat and he gritted his teeth, concentrating, before turning away from them slightly. held his hand outward, and winced, his shoulder jerking, then gritted his teeth and turned his back to them. He stepped a few feet from the mouth of the cave and bent low, where the cave wall met the ground. The soft green light intensified, surrounding his hand and he stood, dragging it up along the wall up over his head and down the other side, creating a circle and ending where he started. Suddenly the light was gone, save for the soft barely there glow in Arthur’s palm, and the view out of the cave wasn’t quite as clear as before, somewhat blurred. 

He stepped back with a heavy breath. “Okay. That should…" He turned towards them and took a few more steps before sitting heavily on the floor. 

“Arthur,” Feliciano rushed over towards him. 

He waved his hands at them, dismissively. “I’m alright. Just a little tired.” He sighed, rubbing his temples, “and cold.” Closing his eyes again, he stretched out his hand towards the middle of the room. The light intensified again, this time collecting in the middle of the cave floor, a few feet away from them. This time he let the green glow fade from his hand completely, sighed and rested his head against the cave wall. “There. That should keep us from freezing at least.”

Alfred blinked at the light which now filled the space, squinting against it while at the same time feeling drawn towards it. He scooted just a little closer, suddenly aware of just how cold he’d gotten. 

He realized after a moment that Arthur was staring at him. 

“What?” he asked, bristling somewhat.

Arthur just shook his head. “Just thinking about how impossible all this is going to be. I must be out of my mind.” He sat up straighter and motioned the boy closer. “Come over here. You were quite stupid to go out dressed the way you are.” 

Alfred frowned at the insult, glaring over at the soldier, before scooting over towards Arthur, who grabbed his hands. His fingers were prodded and examined until Arthur deemed them satisfactory, then he sat for a moment and rubbed them. 

Arthur frowned. “I can’t do much tonight,” and he winced as he moved just a little, “but when we leave the caves we’ll take care of this. Now,” he said, motioning towards Alfred’s shoes. “Off.”

Alfred nodded and made quick work of them, along with his socks, which were soaked through. 

Arthur glared at them. “Two toys and a soaked little boy. What an army I’ve found.” He shook his head and motioned at the two toys. “Get over here you two. Up.” He ordered. 

Feli nodded with a smile and jumped up. Matthew was just behind him. They both sat themselves against and on Alfred’s lap.

Arthur noticed the odd look Alfred gave him. 

“Toys don’t need water. They don’t need to eat. They do however need hugs.” Feliciano moved over a little and sat down between the two of them, playing with the bell on the end of his hat. Arthur smiled a little in response. “They thrive off a constant supply of them.” 

Alfred pulled Matthew closer and scooted just a little closer to Feliciano. 

“Good lad.” He picked up Alfred’s feet and began the same careful examination he had started on his fingers. He shook his head. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to wander around the cold in wet shoes?”

For just a moment Alfred thought of rag wrapped toes and blood in the snow and a cold that made the compared discomfort of cold wet socks seem silly. The memory was gone just as quickly as it had came, leaving him with nothing but a shiver and confusion about why his feet suddenly ached.

Alfred blinked, and noticed Arthur was staring at him yet again, a slightly puzzled look that disappeared almost as quickly as Alfred noticed. Arthur had been doing it ever since he’d arrived at the cabin. “Why do you look at me like that?”

Instead of answering, Arthur focused on rubbing the boy’s feet. Matthew nuzzled just a little closer to Alfred, as if trying to break the strange tension.

It seemed clear that he wasn’t getting an answer. Alfred had let his eyes begin to droop when Arthur’s voice came through the dark. “I don’t mean to stare, nor had I been entirely aware that I was doing so.” Alfred’s eyes opened again, looking at the man who now seemed determined not to look at him. “You remind me of something… or someone.” Arthur’s face tightened. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t place it. But put it out of your mind. I’ll try to stop.”

“It’s okay,” Alfred lied. “It doesn’t really bother me.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cave wall. 

They grew quiet again, after that. Until Matthew spoke up, quietly, perhaps thinking that Alfred was asleep. Or perhaps it was just his normal voice seeming far away. “What are we going to do Arthur?”

“I don’t completely know. I have some ideas, but we’ll need to get there first.”

“How far is it, from here? The first trip through the caves was… strange.”

“I’d say about a day more at our present pace. Wish we could go a little faster, but it can’t really be helped.”

“And then?”

“We rescue Santa, silly,” yawed Feliciano.

Alfred felt himself wondering if toys slept, as he felt sleep tugging down on him. He forced his eyes open as Arthur moved his feet and encouraged him to lay down beside the fire. A thin gray blanket from his pack was draped over top of him. Alfred didn’t expect the warmth he felt from it, nor how soft it was.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. We have to get into the castle first and foremost, and that won’t be an easy task. Not with the Dark’s guards on patrol. They’re sharp, icy creatures…” Arthur rubbed at his arm, as Alfred had seen him do earlier that evening. “Cold.”

Without a word, Feliciano climbed up towards Arthur’s arm. Arthur stood, Feliciano still hanging off of him, and walked back towards the entrance of the cave. 

Alfred watched the two of them as they stepped back through the magical barrier, and then turned his head towards the fire, pushing his fingers into Matthew’s soft fluff. His fingers ran over the metal pendant, slick and cool against the soft faux fur, and he heard himself asking, “Mattie, what were they talking about earlier?” 

Matthew curled up against him.

“I’m not really a very good teddy,” he confessed

“Mm…” Alfred hugged the bear. “I think you’re a good teddy.” 

Matthew shook his head. “I can’t keep being so timid,” he said, “A teddy bear has to be brave.” The bear’s voice was a mixture of pain and embarrassment. “We have to be brave, to help our child be brave, from thunderstorms and doctor’s appointments and dogs and… and just when things aren’t going right and…” He sighed, “We have to be filled of gruff and grrr, along with our stuffing. Whoever heard of a timid teddy?”

Alfred yawned, felt himself drifting off, despite his attempts to stay awake. He pushed his nose into Matthew fur. “Kids and teddies take care of each other. Help each other be brave.”

“But I can’t help anyone. I’m not brave. Not at all. I’m a failure teddy.”

From somewhere far away, Alfred felt his finger squeeze the bear again, gripping the fur. “Not a failure,” he whispered, his voice trailing off. “Always been brave.” 

The world around him faded into warmth and the soft hint of maple.

* * *

The next morning Alfred woke to Arthur shaking his shoulder gently. 

“Get up. We need to get moving.” 

Matthew and Feli were already up, Feli playing with a few rocks and Matthew brushing a few stray leaves out of his fur. Alfred sat up, every muscle in his body complaining. That happened, he guessed, when you slept in a cave. 

Arthur had picked up his pack and gun and was straightening his coat. He turned and looked towards Alfred.

"So what _was_ your plan?" 

"Plan?" Alfred looked back, frowning at the unsaid accusation. He opened his mouth, but the words got caught in his throat, as for just a moment Arthur’s uniform shifted. He blinked, rubbing his eyes.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Come here. There’s something you, all of you, need to see.” 

He stood at the entrance to the cave and pointed at the branches of the bush covering it. 

“This,” he said, gesturing towards the branches covering the opening, “was what I was afraid of.” There was a crystalline layer of silvery ice dancing across them. It didn’t look like anything Alfred had ever seen. 

“What does it mean?” Matthew asked. 

“Nothing good I’m afraid. Without Santa to keep it in check, the Dark is moving further and further south, into new territories. That design,” he said, pointing towards the branches, “Is a clear sign. It’s taking whatever opportunities that it can, and the smaller magical communities just can’t stand up to it by themselves.” Arthur bent over and picked up his pack and gun, swinging them across his shoulder. “Come. The longer we delay the worse things are going to get, although it’s getting harder to see how that could happen now.” 

He turned and led them further into the cave, one hand before him lit with the same green glow as the previous night. Silence ruled as they digested the news. 

“Watch your step,” Arthur said as they approached a large crack in the wall, framed on either side by rocks several feet taller than the soldier. He climbed down into it, momentarily taking the light with him. Alfred stood there for a minute, looking into darkness, before he realized Arthur’s hand was stretched out. “Come along lad. Nothing here can hurt you when you’re with an elf.” 

Arthur turned back around before Alfred could respond, stepping lightly over the slick stones, and moving just slow enough for Alfred to not slip. As they walked further down he realized that the stones were stairs, edges rounded through the years by dripping water. The walls of the cave seemed to glow faintly with the same light cast by Arthur, shimmering in shades of green and red and silver, echoing with an energy he was becoming acutely aware of the more time he spent around the elves. The energy in the cave however was more tingly, and not in a good way. Although the warm glow he’d come to associate with elves was there, he also had the sensation of being pinched. 

Alfred squeezed Matthew tighter with his left arm and pulled himself closer to Arthur. The soldier looked down at him, and Alfred thought he was going to be reprimanded. Instead Arthur just frowned a little and clutched Alfred’s hand tighter. The gesture should have been comforting, but that warm assurance was dimmed by the fact that the tingling seemed to increase the further they walked, the surroundings getting colder and the pinches becoming more frequent. 

“T-this isn’t good,” Feliciano said, gripping the back of his neck. “Even the tunnels are-"

Arthur just nodded. 

It wasn’t long before they reached the bottom of the stone stairs and walked into a narrow corridor. It wound this way and that, stretching out for a distance and then taking a sharp turn to the right or to the left. Holes of various sizes lined the walls. They seemed to appear, and disappear, at random. Alfred inched closer to Arthur again. If he were to be separated from the others… 

On and on they traveled, until Alfred was certain they’d never reach the end. And he was so tired. Why was he even-

“Arthur. That was the entrance back there,” Feliciano suddenly said, twisting around to look back as they stepped through a new corridor. 

“I know,” replied Arthur, who walked steadily onward.

“Then where are you going?” cried Feliciano, gripping onto Alfred’s head. 

“We’re just taking a slight detour,” Arthur said calmly, although Alfred noticed that his pace had slowed noticeably. “This is going to take more than just us.” 

“But Arthur,” said Matthew quietly, “the time. I thought we had to hurry.” 

“This won’t take long. See,” Arthur pointed out in front of them at a growing pinprick of soft purple light. “There’s the exit up there.” 

“Oh,” Matthew said in awe, as the passage opened up before them, stretching out in width and height, allowing them a full view of the terrain beyond even before they reached the caves entrance. The world before them glowed purple, the sky above taking on that size lilac hue. The snow on the ground reflected the color, shimmering as if every individual crystal was singing. That song, however, was nothing compared to the chorus rising up from the ground in sharp, jagged, splendorous points. On a small rise a short distance from the cave rose a palace, shining, as if made of ice. 

Alfred shivered. What he noticed more so even than the frightening, beautiful structure, was the cold. It nipped and bit at him, burning his fingers and driving away any of the delicate magical warmth the toys and Arthur had lent him. 

“Now,” Arthur said, as they reached the line of snow, “I wan-" He turned around to see the fixed stares of the other three and the small tremble in Alfred’s form. He closed his fist over the green glow, extinguishing it, and turned back around to gaze at the palace.

“Beautiful, isn’t it.” 

“Arthur,” whispered Feliciano. “Where are we?”

“The realm of the snow fairies.” 

“The snow fairies?” Feliciano cried in a panicked voice, jumping up and nearly losing his balance. “B-but Arthur, you don’t- how do you-"

“Contacts are more fluid than you might think,” Arthur replied. “And it’s important to have as many as possible, in as many locations as possible. How else do you think we had managed to stay ahead of the Dark as long as we did.” 

Feliciano stared, slack-jawed, “But Arthur, they-"

“Now,” Arthur interrupted, standing up. “An escort will be here shortly.” He took hold of Alfred’s hand again and began walking. Alfred stared up at the palace looming ahead of them and stumbled just a little as he walked.

“Come along,” Arthur said, glancing back. “Don’t drag your feet.” 

They were halfway to the palace when Arthur stopped and turned back around to face them again. “Now, the three of you, don’t speak until you’re spoken to. Hopefully the queen will be amiable enough, but fairies can be flighty.”

“More than elves?”

“Yes, more so than elves. They’re-"

“Arthur!” A small figure walked swiftly towards them, dress shimmering and wings fluttering behind, crystalline. “When the queen said we had a visitor I thought it might be you.” 

“Neva,” Arthur greeted the slight figure, who was only a head taller than Alfred. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”

“Oh, well enough,” she smiled before letting her expression fall. “But we heard the news. It’s awful, just awful!” She motioned for them to follow and began moving back towards the palace, toes just lightly touching the snow as her wings fluttered.

“Yes, that’s the reason I’m here. It’s very important that I speak to her majesty right away.” 

Neva gripped lightly at her dress and looked back with uncertainty. “Ah, yes. I will let her know you have arrived, but you see, tonight is the solstice and the ball has already begun.” 

“It’s very important.”

“Yes, yes, I realize-"

“And Santa has done so much for the fairies in the past.”

“He has?” Feliciano asked, flabbergasted.

Arthur turned his head around to glare at the clown. “Yes, he has,” he said before turning back to Neva. 

“Yes,” she said. “And we all realize that, but…” She bit her lip. They walked in silence for a moment, approaching a door in the castle wall before she continued, “But it’s more complicated than that Arthur, I shouldn’t have to tell you that.” 

Neva pulled open the door and stepped inside, holding it open for them and then leading them through a white hallway. Their steps were silent in the space, as if sound had ceased altogether. Other fairies flitted past them noiselessly, carrying trays and bowls. Everything was quiet, but the hall still echoed with life, as if it should have been ringing with noise. After a moment they were shown into a small room off of the hall and the door closed behind them with a click, sound rushing back to his ears.

Neva stood beside the door, fingers gracing the handle, and gestured over to a small velvet couch, colored a light purple. “Please sit. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The door opened again, sound once again being sucked away as Neva moved swiftly out into the hall. 

Alfred suddenly felt himself picked up from behind and sat on the couch. Then Arthur was squatting in front of him, examining his face and adjusting his hair. Fingers ran through it, undoing any small snags or tangles that were present, before approaching Alfred’s cowlick. Arthur pushed at it for a moment, frowning as it stubbornly remained standing, before licking his fingers and going towards it again.

“Stop!” Alfred cried, catching Arthur’s hand. “That’s gross.”

Arthur sighed, and sat back on his heels, looking the boy up and down. “That will have to do. Okay,” he continued, turning his attention to the toys, straightening Matthew’s collar and picking a leaf out of Feliciano’s yarn hair. “I don’t have to tell you two this at least, since you don’t eat anyway, but Alfred,” he said, looking up at the boy. “While we’re here the fairies might offer you things, food, treats, etc.” Alfred smiled for a second before Arthur continued, “Don’t accept anything.” 

Alfred felt his shoulders droop. “But why?” he asked, puzzled. “I’m hungry. And wouldn’t that be rude?”

“In the magical world…” Arthur paused, before continuing. “When dealing with magical creatures there are dangers you’re not accustomed to. Their food carries magic that…” Arthur stood, crossing his arms and looking back at the door. 

“But I ate Francis’s food. Elves are magic and I’ve been fine.” 

“Veh. Alfred,” said Feliciano, hopping onto Alfred’s lap. “Not all of the magical world is like us. The snow fairies are-"

At that point the door reopened and Neva walked back inside, shutting the door behind her. She stood stiffly, full of formality, as she spoke, “The queen regrets that she cannot leave the ball at this moment, however she does request your presence in the grand hall.”

Alfred looked up at Arthur, as he was helped down off the couch, unable to feel anything but uncertain. If Arthur’s expression before had been grim, now it was absolutely grave.

* * *

Alfred had been prepared when the sound, once again, disappeared. What he hadn’t been ready for was for it coming back, wild and loud, a cacophony of voices, clatters, and music, as they stepped through a grand entranceway. 

The room was filled with dancing figures that twirled around, feet just barely gracing the ground before rising up off of it completely, aided by delicate icy wings. But as they walked forward the crowd parted, figures stopping to stare at them. Alfred swallowed, as he looked up at the faces, some curious and some threatening, but all carrying an icy chill he couldn’t help but shiver at. 

The crowd split until the group found themselves standing in front of a group of stairs. The music stopped and Arthur nodded, half-bowing, towards the figure who sat upon a silvery throne at the top of the small platform. The fairy who smiled down on them wore an elaborate dress, white and full of lace. Every tiny movement she made sent a beautiful light gleaming off of it. In fact, everything about her was beautiful. 

“Arthur, how good to see you,” she said, her voice tinkling like a group of tiny bells. The sound of moving fabric suddenly erupted and Alfred turned around to see the dancers all kneeling. Arthur, he noticed, remained standing, back straight and unyielding. Alfred, inched slightly behind him as the queen gestured. “And who is this?” 

“This, your majesty,” Arthur replied, pulling Alfred in front of him, “is Alfred.” 

“What an adorable little child,” she said and Alfred backed up quickly against Arthur’s legs. Although she smiled the whole time, there was something predatory in the words, something with teeth. Arthur rested his hand on Alfred’s shoulder, gripping his arm reassuringly and pulling Alfred back to his side. 

“But what strange traveling companions you have,” the Queen continued, glancing to Feliciano, who was gripping Alfred’s coat collar tightly, and Matthew, who had turned himself away from the queen and once again had his muzzle firmly planted in Alfred’s chest. “Especially considering the recent developments.” 

“Those developments are actually the reason I’m here,” Arthur replied. “I was hoping you had some information regarding the Dark’s movements these past few days. I’ve been…” he paused for a moment, “a little preoccupied.” 

“Yes,” the queen said, “So I had heard.” 

Alfred felt Arthur’s grip on him tighten. 

“But no matter,” the queen continued, waving her hand dismissively, “I’m sure you won’t let it get out of hand.” She stood up and walked down the steps towards them, remaining on the stairs so that she remained an inch or so above Arthur. “You are aware, of course,” she said, “that the Dark is not a friend of the snow fairies. It aims to upset the balance in the realms and that cannot be done. Yes, it would be nice to have power like we once had again, and our realm does seem to be shrinking, but its approach is certainly not the right way to handle things. ”

“We have worked with Santa over the years to see that its aims remain unaccomplished. I had not expected it, but I have enjoyed this cooperation. However,” she continued, “I’m afraid that recent events could have started a chain reaction.” Her smile dropped, a look of serious concentration replacing it. “As you have likely heard, several of the smaller magical communities to the north are under the Dark’s control. We are afraid that if things go on long enough they will completely disappear, and Santa’s realm with them.”

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “I was aware of his most recent…” he grimaced, “Acquisitions. However,” he continued. “We’re not certain how it affects the balance of power in the magical world, and I’ve been concerned about what could happen if Santa’s ride does not take place.”

The queen shook her head. “That I do not know. It is still unknown to us whether the magic would simply re-disperse or whether it would combine with the closest strong source.”

“The Dark.”

The queen nodded. “But you are right to be worried. We cannot afford to have Santa’s powers fall into the wrong hands. Arthur,” her hand reached out and firmly gripped hold of Arthur’s right elbow. Her eyes stared icily into his. “Take care when dealing with cold. A case of frost bite would be regrettable. It would be a shame for the rest of the magical world to have to make an amputation.” 

Arthur jerked his arm away and growled back. “I assure you, that will not be necessary. In fact, that is why I’m here I the first place. We have been largely unsuccessful in retaking the pole. As I’m quite certain you are aware of. It is time, in my opinion, for the fairy court to step in as Santa’s allies. We cannot afford to wait any longer. The time to take the pole is now and we need your assistance.” 

The queen laughed. “Surely the illustrious Commander Arthur Kirkland cannot be asking for our assistance?” 

“Believe me, you majesty. If there were any other way I would have taken it.”

The queen nodded. “And I’m afraid I cannot help you in this matter.”

“You’re not seri-"

“I assure you Commander Kirkland I am very serious.” She raised her eyebrows. “You are, of course right. This is the time to attempt to retake the pole, because waiting any longer will undoubtedly make your cause even more arduous than it already is. We cannot help for the same reason. I’m sure you are aware that this is the solstice. As you know, even fairies grow weak this time of year. It is for this reason we have the ball to begin with,” she swept her hands out over the great hall, speaking not just to Arthur, but to everyone within, “To renew ourselves, our magic, again. The Dark, of course, will be even stronger after tonight, for he will be doing the same, taking strength in the blackest pitch of night.” 

She looked once again at Arthur. “I am sorry, Commander, but we cannot help you. Now,” she continued with a nod, “On with the festivities. Surely you will stay and help us celebrate.” 

Arthur’s face was frozen in a scowl. “Unfortunately, my lady, if things are as dire as we fear then we must be on our way.”

“Of course, of course. But you must stay to refresh yourselves before moving on. At least let the child rest for a while. He must be so cold,” she said gazing down at Alfred, with a soft, sweet, sickening smile. “And so hungry.” 

“That’s quite all right,” Arthur said sharply, pulling Alfred closer into his side. “I have enough resources of my own to keep us comfortable until we get to our destination.” 

The queen looked back up at Arthur. “Very well,” she said, walking back up the stairs to sit on the throne. She clapped her hands once and the room was filled with music and the rustling of material, the fairies standing up and continuing their dance, twirling about once more like flakes in a snowstorm.

* * *

“Okay,” Arthur said, “It shouldn’t be much further.” 

They’d reentered the caves, and trekked through them for what had seemed to Alfred like hours. He should have felt warm, surrounded by Arthur’s magic, but a persistent chill seemed to cling to him. He thought perhaps it had less to do with the actual weather than with the way Arthur had been acting after speaking with the Queen. 

Even Alfred had been able to notice the calculating glances on the faces in the ballroom, as they walked out amidst the whirling fairies. Neva had attempted to lighten the mood, but as they’d made their way back out of the palace Arthur had been noticeably vigilant. 

“Arthur,” Alfred said. “What’s wrong?”

“Other than the obvious?” Arthur glared down at him. “I was hoping to get aid, but I may have just made things far more difficult for us.” 

“The Queen?” Matthew asked. 

Arthur shook his head. “No. But not everyone has the weight of a kingdom to hold them back. There were far too many eyes there tonight. The possibility that at least one pair of them is working for the Dark…” Arthur frowned. “I miscalculated.” 

He grasped hold of Alfred’s hand. “But there’s no going back now. We’ll just have to go on and hope things work out for the best. Remember there won’t be much cover when we leave the caves, and my magic isn’t what it should be. The cloaking won’t last long. We’ll be reasonably close but-"

“We just have to get close enough to get us in, right? From there… well, me and Feli are small enough that we can slip in,” said Matthew. 

“Right,” Arthur said, without facing them. “If all goes well.” 

The cave walls were widening, just a bit, and the scent of icy air swirled around them. They were at the mouth of the cave, ice and snow crunching underfoot. 

Suddenly icy arms wrapped around his middle, and his hand pulled away from Arthur’s. 

“Alfred!” Arthur yelled as several icy figures surged forward. 

He breathed in sharply as he was pulled out of the cave and the shock of sudden cold, the air of polar night, hit him. He gasped, pushing at the arms surrounding him as he felt his temperature dropping, a frozen ache filling him from the inside out. It gripped his heart and squeezed. “A-Arthur!” 

The man was struggling against two icy soldiers. He gritted his teeth and swung around, pulling one of them with the momentum and sending it crashing into the other. There was a crack as they collided, and began to fracture, a fissure leading from their heads down through their icy bodies. He went for his rifle which had fallen from his back, but a figure- Gilbert, Alfred remembered- stepped out in front of it with a cold smile and stepped down on it. Ice formed around the wood and metal, and with a shifting of weight it cracked under his foot.

“Did you really expect to get this far? Even if we hadn’t had a bit of help, the Dark can feel you coming Arthur. Not to mention the boy.” And Gilbert looked up at him with an icy expression. 

Alfred tried to twist in the thing’s grasp. He did try but he could feel something draining out of him. What was the point? He’d never be able to…

Gilbert began to walk forward and Arthur stood up, blocking the path between them. 

“You really think I’m going to do anything worse to him than that would?” 

Arthur’s muscled twitched, but he didn’t turn his gaze away from Gilbert. 

“Oh,” he said, “Don’t worry. The Dark has something in mind for him. It’s been watching him. You on the other hand, are just getting annoying. Fighting so hard.” Gilbert shook his head. “Stupid. It’s so much better like this.” And he reached out towards Arthur.

“The talisman Matthew! Now!” Arthur yelled, as he surged forward.

Gilbert moved his head deftly out of the way and grabbed Arthur’s arm as it went forward into a punch.

Arthur screamed as midnight raced up his arm and then slowly made its way through his body. He fell to his knees, holding himself. 

“No!” Alfred shouted, once again fighting the thing holding him. He felt his elbow connect, and a sickening crunch as he felt it go through ice. He heard a creaking, cracking sound, and he continued to move even as the thing holding him screeched.

Suddenly he was on the ground, shattering ice falling around him. He shook, looked up and saw a piece that might have been a hand at one point. He closed his eyes but that did nothing to help, as his mind supplied an even more vivid picture, filled with blood and smoke. 

“Grab on,” something said, and he opened his eyes, looking away from the- looking up at a large polar bear with a stuffed clown on its back.

“Alfred!” His voice was deeper, but it was Mattie all the same. 

He grabbed hold of Matthew’s fur and pulled himself up.

They turned back to Arthur, who was lying on the ground, a circle of icy beings around him. 

“Run!” Arthur yelled, when he saw them hesitate. His eyes were growing cold and blue.

Matthew turned and loped off into the darkness. 

“Stop,” Alfred heard Gilbert yell towards a group of icy soldiers that were following after them. “They won’t get far anyway.” 

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, gripping Feli and Matthew as they fled through the night. 

“Did you know him?” he asked, gasping, trying not to get sick. “Was that a- Was that-"

Feliciano, grimaced. A look of fear still marked his expression, but he shook his head. “No. No that was… that was just a-" he shivered. “I don’t think it was actually alive… not like how you think.” 

Matthew looked backwards at him, uncertainty and pain racing across his face. Feliciano turned around, settling against Alfred’s middle and snaked an arm around him. 

Alfred shook, still. Felt the cold biting him through 

Feliciano hummed, softly and then a little louder. 

Alfred didn’t know the song, but it was warm and with time some of the cold pain slowly began to let go of his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey guys. Just a quick note to let you know I don’t know if I’m going to be posting tomorrow or not. It’s solstice and I need a break. This posting schedule is doing me in. Also, those last three chapters are really the emotional finale of the story and I really want to do it right. They’re all pretty rough right now and need more work, and at this point in the season I’m working with about half the energy I had when I started this thing. Anyway, thanks for reading and for your feedback, and happy solstice to any of you who are celebrating.

They rode through the too quiet world of black and white, cold just barely held off by lingering magic. On they went, for hours, the night far darker than it should have been. Their only guide was the faint glimmer of light in the distance that Matthew and Feliciano told him was the North Pole. Even the stars seemed to have disappeared.

“I don’t understand. It doesn’t seem like we’re getting any closer at all,” Feliciano said, tiredly. He shivered, shrinking back against Alfred. 

“Feli?” Alfred asked, as the clown shivered and shrunk back against him.

“It’s been the same since we started out, and it’s been forever.” After a moment, he added, “I wish there had been another magic pendant.” Feliciano sounded so dejected that Matthew slowed, almost to a stop, for a moment. 

“I’m still afraid,” Matthew said. “Terrified.” He sounded embarrassed and hesitant, but he kept moving slowly onwards. 

“But now you’re so big. If we get there I wo-"

“ _When_ we get there,” Matthew said, tightly. “And being big doesn’t mean not being afraid.” 

“And it won’t help much with getting into the castle,” Alfred said. “We’ll _need_ to be small.”

“I don’t think it’s going to last that long…” Matthew said. He didn’t say what they were all thinking. Saying it felt like tempting fate. But the image of three small figures wandering around in the arctic was in all of their minds nevertheless. 

Feliciano shook his head and the jingling bell on his hat sounded just as forlorn as the clown. 

Alfred looked back up at the light and started, gripping Matthew’s fur all the tighter. It’d grown dimmer, or at least looked farther away. He breathed in deeply, swallowing and feeling his eyes burn, then shook his head.

“Tell me about it, Feli,” Alfred said. “About the North Pole. Like it usually is.” 

Feliciano looked backwards at Alfred with a sad expression. “Why?” 

Alfred’s eyes widened. He forced a grin onto his face. “Why?” he laughed, and it kind of hurt, but Feli needed it. “Any kid would like to hear about Santa’s workshop.”

Feliciano tilted his head to the side, and his bell rang again, and it seemed just a little brighter. “Well,” he began, “The workshop is only a small part of Santa’s North Pole complex. But it’s the center of it. That’s where I work, along with Ludwig. And my brother.” And then Feliciano drooped again. “Veh, Alfred. I left him behind.” 

“Huh?” Alfred said, ducking his head a little as the cold wind picked up.

“When the Dark attacked.” And Feliciano sounded even sadder than before. “I’d heard something in the other room and I went to check. I thought Gilbert might be trying to play a trick on Ludwig- he does that a lot. They’re brothers too.” He shook his head, and the bell jingled, flatly. “But then I noticed things looked strange and I kept going, looking for Ludwig. And I found him, and we were trying to get back to the workshop, but everywhere we turned something stopped us. No matter what, I couldn’t get through. It was strange. Doors that shouldn’t have been locked were stuck solid. And walls of ice growing out of the floors.” The clown shivered.

Alfred thought the darkness was growing around them, if that was even possible. If he didn’t know better he’d thought he’d heard a growling in the wind. “Feli,” he said. “I don’t think this is-"

“I even got separated from Ludwig. And I ran away.” Feliciano was sobbing; all save for the physical tears. “I’m a good runner and I managed to get to the tunnels. But I left my brother and he’s there in the-" 

“Feli, you need to-” Matthew said and he sounded panicked. 

The light ahead of them grew fainter than ever before and the cold was almost enough to take Alfred’s breath. It burned even through the magic warmth. 

Feliciano took no notice. 

“He thinks I like Ludwig better and I went for Ludwig and he’ll think I don’t care. What if he’s hurt- what if he’s de-"

“Feli!” Alfred grabbed hold of the clown, putting his hand over his mouth. A black cloud was hemming them in and Alfred couldn’t see the white of the ground anymore. It stank, like sickness and death. Felt like starvation and desperation and despair. And Alfred didn’t know how he knew that smell, those feelings, but they were all around, clinging to them, soaking into every inch of him. “Think happy.” And he gagged, as the miasma rushed into his mouth. “Tell- Tell me something happy!”

“Do you-" Matthew coughed. “Do you remember when that tomato- last year? Tell Alfred what happened!” 

“Lo-Lovino. We were in the sewing room, checking on a new group of stuffed vegetables for a garden playset. I was trying to show them a dance, but I slipped on a pair of scissors and bumped into Lovino.” The clown sniffed, but lightness was back in his voice, for the moment. “He fell right off the table and onto a bunch of the tomatoes. And-" he laughed, “And they kept singing the song we had taught them and rolled Lovino straight across the floor. He was yelling the whole way.” 

As Alfred heard the joy flowing back into the clown’s voice, the blackness started to fade, to the point that he could breathe without feeling sick. “That’s great!” He laughed out loud, in shear relief. “Keep going.”

“Well, there was this little one. She had gotten set aside because she had some problems with her stitching, and she followed Lovino around for weeks after that. He complains all the time but he’s never told her to go away. I…” Feliciano breathed, resting back against Alfred. “I think I feel better now.” 

“Tell me something else.” 

And so they spent the next while telling stories. Or rather, Matthew and Feliciano told stories, while Alfred sat and listened. He didn’t have any to tell of his own.

That struck him, every now and then, every time feeling like a little pinch somewhere inside. But he pushed away at it, and focused on the voices around him. Slowly, but steadily, the dark cloud moved away, disappearing into the night, and the light ahead of them grew stronger, piercing through the darkness. 

And with each smile, every story told, they seemed that much closer to the castle, making the smiles come all the easier.

After finishing a story about Arthur and Francis and a batch of hot cocoa, Feliciano looked at Alfred over his shoulder, smiling slyly. “I can tell you a secret about Gilbert,” he said. “It’s not that much of a secret since some of us know. But he doesn’t _know_ we know. So it’s secret enough. You can’t say anything if w- when we get him back to normal.” 

Alfred nodded solemnly. “Promise.” 

Feliciano turned around, satisfied. “Sometimes in the middle of the night you can hear his boots coming down the hall. They’re big heavy things and he has to take them off to be sneaky. But sometimes you can hear him and he’ll walk down the halls and a few minutes later you can hear him in the music room with Roderich. He’s our composer, in charge of arrangements for lullabies and carols and anything else we might use.”

“They normally fight horribly. Call each other names. Sometimes refuse to speak to each other completely. Or try not to anyway. Whoever’s there with them, Ludwig, or Elizabeta, or Francis, or anyone really- Roderich and Gilbert talk through them.” He laughed, and then continued, “But sometimes when they think no one knows you’ll hear them in the music room, a flute and piano playing together.” The grin was clear in Feliciano’s voice at this point. “And there’s one elf in particular who can’t help but sneak glances at both of them. She’ll almost always be at the door of the room, listening. And then she runs away before either of them knows she’s there.” 

“How do you know that?” Matthew asked.

Feliciano laughed, “Most people don’t know, but I’m good at being snea-" 

“Oh!” Matthew interrupted, “Look!” 

The light of the North Pole was now gleaming against the glittering snow and a giant castle rose up in front of them, shining silver and gold. 

“There it is!” Feliciano shouted and tried to stand up, laughing. 

Alfred kept staring, barely able to believe his eyes. 

Matthew stopped. “But Feli,” he said, “It looks so cold. Francis said something about it, but you don’t really understand until you see it.”

Alfred finally tore his gaze away from the castle, looking down at Feliciano. 

“It’s the ice,” Feliciano said. “It dims the light a little.”

Alfred looked back up at the castle. His breath was coming out in tiny white puffs and his cheeks were stinging from the icy wind, suddenly so much colder than before. “I think it’s beautiful,” he said. “So that means it’ll look that much prettier when everything’s fixed right?” 

Matthew turned his head around, nodded and smiled. And-

Pop.

Feliciano and Alfred landed on the ice. 

“Ow,” Alfred said, getting up onto his knees and rubbing his hip. “What happened?” 

“I stopped,” Matthew said, standing and shaking off. “I think moving was keeping the spell going. It feels… weird.” He stretched his paws out, flexing them, and then looked down. “And short.” 

Alfred stepped over and picked him up, and then Feliciano. “That better?” 

Matthew nodded. He looked up at the castle for a minute and then looked over at Feliciano. “Now we have to get in.” 

* * *

“So you know where we’re going?” Alfred asked, as they crawled through cold tunnels. They were short things, only a few feet tall, and the metal was starting to hurt Alfred’s knees. The dark was even worse.

“Of course I do,” Feliciano whispered, somewhere in front of him. “Remember I said it was how I got out. I was here when some of these were built. And sometimes a ball gets lost, or a toy gets scared. Waking up for the first time can be scary. And these are good when you’re scared.” 

“How?” Alfred asked, “They’re cold and dark and-" He shivered.

“Alfred,” Matthew warned. 

“Don’t worry. We’re in the dark parts now. But closer to the actual pole there are lots of grates and they let light in. And sometimes when you feel scared, or sad, you don’t want the light so much. So I check here, when someone goes missing and sometimes it’s where I find them. It’s our secret though, mine and the other toys who find it. And most of them are far away now, with their children. So there’s only a few people who know about these. They’re safe. And they should lead us in to the middle of the North Pole,” Feliciano whispered. “Or at least close enough.” 

A few minutes later, they turned a corner in the tunnels to see a spot of light shining down from above. Alfred could see the outline of Feliciano turning around towards him and putting his finger up to his lips.

Alfred nodded and turned, performing the same direction towards Matthew. 

They stilled, under the light, listening. After several long minutes Feliciano turned and nodded, with a tight fearful expression, and then pointed upwards at the grate. 

Alfred sat up as far as he could and, with his hands, pushed gently at the grate until it moved up and then over to the side. The scraping noise it made as it slid across the floor stopped him, for a moment, before he pressed on, shoving it away enough to make a child sized opening. 

Up he climbed, out into a frozen hallway. His hands burned as they touched the floor and he drew in a quick hissed breath, scrambling to his knees as soon as he could. The halls thankfully, were silent, save for his own pained noise. He bent back over and reached a hand in, pulling out first Feliciano and then Matthew. 

“Oh,” Feliciano whispered sadly, his voice trembling as he glanced about his home.

“Feli,” Alfred said, as he moved the grate back in place. “Come on. We don’t know-"

“Right,” he said, even as Matthew rested a paw against the back of his head softly. “We need to go…” he turned his head nervously, to the right and then to the left. The uncertainty was clear on his face. Then he raised his hand to his chest and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them again, purpose in his eyes. “This way,” he said, and he set off slowly down the hallway. 

They went on like that for several minutes. Walking for a ways and then reaching a corner and stopping, peaking around the edge. A few times they caught sight of one of the Dark’s guards. But they were lucky, in that they were always easily avoided. Otherwise the hallways were empty.

And then they turned around a corner and gasped, confronted with a frozen statue. 

Feliciano squeaked and then ran over quietly. 

It wasn’t a statue, Alfred realized. 

Elizabeta stood, her arms held high in the air holding a frying pan, rage written across her face. She was frozen a frosty blue. Even the bright red flower in her hair was tinged a silver hue. Feliciano held a hand up to her dress, staring at the crystals formed across the fabric. 

“Careful Feli,” Matthew said. 

Feliciano turned around, his eyes filled with hurt. “She can’t hurt me, Matthew.”

“But you could hurt her,” Alfred said, easing his way around the corner, staying at least a few feet away from the elf, remembering the events outside the cave. “There’s someone else,” Alfred said, and stepped a few feet further down the hall.

“What do you-" Matthew frowned, and padded over towards him. “Oh,” he said sadly, “Gil.” 

The figure, a man, clearly pale even through the layer of ice, lay fallen behind her, close to the back of her skirt. 

“Come on,” Alfred whispered. “We’re not going to help them by standing around and staring.” 

Feliciano and Matthew looked over at him hesitantly, and then with one final look back towards the icy figures, they started off, faster than before, as if to put the image behind them as quickly as possible.

Feet from where they had stood was a heavy, thick door. If they had arrived just a bit sooner, they would have heard from behind it the soft notes of a violin, lonely and mournful. 

* * *

The empty hallways echoed with a stillness that was more eerie even than that of the Winter Fairies’ home. The faint hint of bright reds and greens were hid beneath the cloudy blue ice and frost. 

“This way,” Feliciano whispered, waving them onwards. “I think they are in the garbage room. There is a chute. We can go down it.” They reached the end of the hall and Feliciano stopped, pointing across into an open room. “Through there, do you see it? That is where Fratello is, and probably everyone else.”

“How do-"

Then Feliciano held his arm up, his face full of fear, pushing them back towards the wall they were standing against. They stood frozen as the sound of footsteps, the peculiarly chilling sound of ice hitting ice, echoed down the hallway. Coming towards them. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, trying to press himself further against the wall, knowing the only way that could happen would be for him to fuse with the ice itself, become a part of the same cold darkness haunting Santa’s palace. Still the footsteps walked towards them and Alfred felt his back, his arms, his heart become colder and colder. 

And then he felt a soft pressure on his leg. 

Matthew was looking at him, gripping onto his pajama pants.

He felt just a little warmer. 

And just as suddenly the guard was turning, going in the other direction down the hall. 

They remained still, listening to the footsteps slowly melt into nothing. 

“Come. We-"

“How do you know?” Alfred whispered

“How do I know what?”

“That he’ll be there. That _anyone_ other than the Dark’s guard will be there?” He shivered and gasped, feeling a jagged pain inside. 

“Alfred,” Matthew began, hugging his leg entirely now. “That’s the Dark. Don’t let it-"

“I said before,” Feliciano interrupted, with a smile. “We are cut from the same cloth. I _know_ he is there. No doubts.” He turned to Alfred and held out his hand. “It will be quicker if you carry us. Wait until I give the signal and then run. The chute will be on the far wall.”

Alfred nodded, trying to shake off the cold, and picked up Matthew and Feliciano. Almost immediately he felt the twinge melt, his chest loosening once again. He hugged the two toys tighter, for just a moment, and then relaxed his grip. 

Feliciano smiled up at him, patting his arm and then peaked around the corner again. He waited just a moment and then- “Go!” 

The distance from their hiding place to the chute seemed long when he looked at it. It felt even longer while he was running across the hallway and wide open room. The feared shouts and running feet never happened, but he could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he finally slid to a stop against the workshops wall. 

That was what the room was. 

The workshop. 

Alfred peered around at workstations and conveyor belts, all silent. He was sure, if he closed his eyes, he’d be able to hear the ghostly sounds of machinery and that strange high twinkling sound he’d come to associate with magic and the laughter of elves. 

But he’d already wasted too much time just standing around already. He reached up to pull on the handle of the chute. 

“Wait.” 

Feliciano and Alfred froze, eyes darting about.

Matthew looked at them sheepishly for a second, “Sorry. It’s just that we’ll need something to tie…” He turned his head, looking about the room. “There.” He pointed towards a bunch of ribbons on top of one of the counters. He ran over, on all four paws, and began to climb onto one of the stools, only to have it begin to tip. 

Then Alfred’s hands were there, stilling it before it could topple over. He smiled at Matthew, who climbed the rest of the way up to the counter and began to push a red roll of ribbons almost as big as himself towards the edge. 

Alfred reached up and lifted it without too much trouble, despite its size and weight.  
With the ribbons securely in his arms he stood with his back to the counter and let Matthew climb up onto his shoulders, and then walked, with some effort, back to the chute. Before he could even set the roll down Feliciano was grabbing the loose end and pulling it free from the plastic roll. Soon a loose pile sat around them on the floor. 

“Veh,” Feliciano started, looking at the chute, his hand to his chin, “Alfred. You’ll need to hold this for us.” 

“I’m not going with you?” Alfred asked. “But I can-"

“The ribbon won’t hold you,” Matthew said, from his perch on Alfred’s shoulders.

Alfred frowned, but clamped down on his disappointment. He pulled down on the handle of the chute, and it opened with a loud squeak. 

“Damn it!” A voice, similarly accented to Feli’s, yelled. “Don’t be tossing stuff down here you overgrown icicles!”

“Fratello?” Feliciano called, with a grin. Matthew had to grab his feet, lest he fall down the chute. 

“Damn it Feliciano! What are you doing here?”

“We’ve come to rescue you, silly.” And he lowered the ribbon down the metal chute, clutching it in his hands, about to lower himself down as well.

Suddenly there was a tug on the ribbon. “Like hell you are.” 

A few moments later, a clown with a scowling face popped out of the chute. 

Feliciano’s grin broke out on his face and he grabbed his brother, pulling him out of the chute. They both landed on the floor in a tangle of stuffed limbs. 

“Oof,” Lovino said, “Let go already.” 

He frowned up at Alfred. “Who the hell is this?”

“Veh!” Feliciano said, waving his arms. “You shouldn’t say-"

“Kids these days have heard a lot worse than that,” Lovino said, pulling himself to his feet. He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned back around to Feliciano and patted him down, roughly. “You’re okay, right? I mean… not that I care but I don’t want everyone blaming me if you’ve been hurt or something.”

“I’m fine,” Feliciano said, with a smile. “Are you okay? I was wo-"

Lovino turned, crossing his arms. “Of course I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be? Just cause it was cold and dark and-" His face wrinkled. 

Then behind him the ribbon tugged again. 

“Shit.” He crossed over to the chute again, holding onto the ribbon and looking down. “Come on up.” 

Lovino reached down and took hold of a stuffed hand, gritted his teeth and pulled.

Alfred stepped over pulled the other stuffed hand up slowly, careful not to offset Lovino’s balance. One after one, toys were pulled up out of the chute, stuffed toys, and action figures, and dolls and-

They were all making too much noise. 

“Shut up,” Lovino whispered. The two clowns were glancing about nervously. “You want to get tossed down there again? Maybe frozen this time? Or end up wherever Kiku is?”

“Kiku?” Feliciano looked at him, with a worried glance. 

Lovino looked over to the side, at the cluster of toys still climbing out of the chute. “We were getting information from him. Nothing beats a ninja action figure for staying hidden. But he got caught a few days ago.” He shook his head. “Don’t know where he is now. We know where everyone else is though. Santa too… we think.” 

“That’s great!” Feliciano stage whispered, hugging his brother once again.

“Fel- let go of me damn it.” Lovino tried his best for a few moments to push his brother off, before giving up and just talking with him squeezing his chest. “We need to go get the others. We’re not going to be able to-"

“We don’t have _time_ ,” Matthew said, pointing at the clock. “The fairy queen- _don’t ask_ ” he interrupted himself, when he saw the stricken look on a few faces, before continuing, “the fairy queen said we only have until the solstice. At the solstice the Dark will be at its strongest, and if Santa’s not in control of the pole…” 

Lovino shook off his brother and stepped forward, “We _can’t_ do this without-"

“You go get the others. We’ll find Santa,” Alfred said, stepping behind Matthew. “Once you find them you can come for us.” 

Feliciano and Lovino shared a look. “Okay,” Lovino said. “We’ll go after the potato ba-" he cut himself off when Feliciano hit his arm. Lovino glared at his brother before turning back to Matthew. “Listen close. We don’t have time to go over this twice.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Well, this is the last section of this little part. After this chapter we're back to the regular world. Thanks for having patience, if you've been waiting for the other stuff, and thanks for reading.

“It should just be around that corner if Lovino was right,” Matthew whispered as they made their way down the cold halls, pointing in the direction they needed to go from his position in Alfred’s arms. Around a corner and straight ahead stood a row of doors, all of them iced over, the bright painting around the edges muted and discolored. 

“How do we know which door?” Alfred said, as he walked slowly, glancing at one door after another.

Matthew blinked, looking up at Alfred. “We knock?” 

“So polite, Matthew.” 

Alfred spun around at the familiar voice.

Against the wall stood a thin figure, his blonde hair frozen a silvery hue that just wasn’t right. His bright green eyes looked dulled. 

“Arthur…” Alfred whispered. 

“That’s not him,” Matthew said, his voice shaky.

“What-"

“That’s not Arthur. Not anymore.” 

“Don’t be silly, Matthew,” Arthur said, stepping forward. “Who else would I be?” 

Matthew squirmed in his arms. “Go Alfred. That’s not him.” 

“But-" 

“Run!” 

Alfred’s legs made the decision for him, moving before he even realized what was happening. He ran as fast as he could, feet slipping every so often. Every time, he reached out for the wall with one arm, a jolt of fear hitting him in the gut, and glanced behind them. The red and black uniform was always there.

“I can find you easily you know,” Arthur yelled, somewhere behind them. “That’s the thing about the Dark. It can find you anywhere.” 

“He’s playing with us,” Matthew said.

Alfred didn’t answer, just tried to run faster, trying to ignore the frosted statues they kept passing- all of them with expressions frozen in fear. 

The air around them was growing icy. The ice on the floor was more noticeable. He lost time, dodging visible spots and slipping on others. His eyes burned. 

In front of them at the end of the hall.

A single door. 

Frozen.

He squeezed his eyes shut and held Matthew even tighter; ran towards it, shoulder jutted out.

“Al, no!” Matthew yelled. 

He stopped, or tried to, slid into the door instead with a crash. Alfred groaned, sitting against the wall and holding onto his shoulder. For a split second he wondered why the ground beneath him was icy hard and not softened with snow. Reality cam- _no_ \- he shook his head. This wasn’t… 

The sick twisting in his head left after a moment, and he looked down at Matthew. “What did you call-"

Matthew shook his head, growling, staring down the hall towards Arthur, who stood, not four feet away. 

Arthur’s face was tight and his eyes were wide. His arm was stretched out towards them. 

Then his expression cleared again into icy calm and his hand dropped. He walked towards them slowly. 

Alfred stood up, as best he could, grimacing as his shoulder complained. He set Matthew down and stepped in front of him.

“Alfred,” Matthew protested, trying to force his way around his legs. Alfred stopped him with his arm.

Arthur’s eyes were frozen, chilly. Alfred’s stomach clenched. Those were the eyes that had stared him down from across an ocean, unyielding, unfeeling. 

He gasped, grabbing his head. He felt sick again as the world tried to right itself.

And then cold arms wrapped viselike around him. 

“Arthur!” Alfred cried, “Stop! You’re hur-" He gasped, “Stop!”

The ice around the doorframe cracked, and it swung open into the darkened room beyond.

Alfred gasped at the cold. He’d thought the rest of the castle had been cold, but all of the warmth had been stripped from this space. Worse than that, his arms, chest, back- anywhere Arthur touched him- were growing colder by the minute, burning. He tried once again to struggle, but could feel the rigidness of Arthur’s arms. 

Remembered the hand in the snow.

He whimpered.

And then he was being dropped, unceremoniously to the floor. 

“Arthur. Stop being weak.” The voice echoed out of the darkness.

No, Alfred realized, pushing himself slowly off the floor, onto his hands and knees. It _was_ the darkness. 

“You don’t really care,” it continued. Its voice was a low growl, predatory, underneath which he could hear the groaning and sobbing of millions. “Why would you care? No one cares for you and nothing is worth car-"

“Shut up!” Alfred yelled, as he watched Arthur’s face morph, growing icier with each word. “Just shut up!” 

He stumbled to his feet and propelled himself towards Arthur, ignoring Matthew’s yell. Not caring about the cold; not caring if it engulfed him in a glacial fire. He wrapped his arms around the frozen torso. “Don’t listen t-to it Arthur,” he said, even as he felt the icy chill spreading through his cheek, which was pressed against the man’s stomach. “It’s l-lying. It always lies! _I_ care!”

Underneath his cheek the surface began to soften. Two arms came up. 

And he was shoved away, harshly. His back and head hit the wall several feet behind him and he slid to the floor.

He clenched his eyes shut as the sick pain spread through him. It left him in a haze, gasping and curling forward. 

He thought, somewhere, he could hear Matthew. He opened his eyes, blinking back the tears. 

Arthur was staring at him, his face full of anguish, his eyes slowly clearing and the frost melting off of him, revealing the bright uniform underneath. Arthur crumpled slowly to the ground. 

Matthew was at Alfred’s arm, paw resting against his shoulder, looking into his eyes, searching for something

“H-he’s…” Alfred said, looking back towards Arthur. Matthew glanced over his shoulder, then back towards Alfred, nodding. Matthew waited for Alfred as he crawled to his feet, shakily, placing his paw against Alfred’s leg. Then the two of them moved together, slowly towards the soldier.

The man’s eyes opened, and then closed again, quickly. He groaned. 

“Arthur?” Matthew said, keeping one hand against Alfred’s leg as they stepped closer.

blinked, his eyes squeezing together and then opening again. He looked at them with recognition “Boys?” 

Alfred laughed, ignoring the ache it sent through his head, and threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Arthur, who was still lying on the floor. 

Arthur looked down at Alfred in confusion, and then stared at Matthew, pain written across his face. One arm clutched the boy and the other reached towards Matthew. “Who did this to-"

“Well isn’t this just touching.” 

The some distance away, a large beast stood, sharp silvery eyes glinting. The form wasn’t solid. It shifted, every so often, wispy tendrils coming up off of its back and disappearing into the air. 

Alfred pushed himself away from Arthur’s embrace. The man seemed weak enough to allow it. He stood up, and tried to pull at Arthur’s arm. “Arthur get up. We need to-”

The temperature, if it was possible, dropped. Alfred could swear his breath was freezing in his throat, down into his lungs, burning in a way he didn’t think possible. He tried to step back but he was frozen in place. 

“Go?” The Dark asked, growling. “Why are you trying to leave?” Its tail swished in the air and it took a step towards them. “You came all this way to meet me, didn’t you?”

Alfred shook his head firmly. Shocked with the sudden knowledge that maybe he could move a bit after all, he pressed his lips together firmly and took a step forward.

“D-" He tried to speak but the words felt stolen from his mouth as his jaw shook, his teeth chattering. “Didn’t c-come for you.” He clenched his fists. 

“Perhaps not initially,” the Dark said. “Maybe not even consciously. But it’s been _so_ easy to pull you to me. I almost had you, you know. Several times.” The Dark laughed. “And you didn’t even know. Too busy playing a hero to even notice.”

Alfred froze, then stepped forward again, away from Matthew and Arthur. 

“Alfred!” Matthew yelled. “Don’t-"

“And that’s _so_ like you Alfred.” The thing shifted in form slightly as it moved towards them. “Blind to everything else, anyone else, around you. Just want to save the day. Be the hero. Be the _star_. But it’s all about you. You don’t really care about anyone though, do you? Not really.”

The cold seemed to bit into his very core, and he was so tired, suddenly. He clenched his fists and opened his mouth, but before he could say a world the Dark swirled in a rush of movement.

Alfred whirled around to face it and saw Matthew standing in front of Arthur, who was trying to get to his knees. 

Matthew’s teeth were bared as he growled, “Leave him alone.”

The Dark swirled in a dark cloud, barely formed, and was suddenly behind him, its breath icy cold against his neck. Alfred stumbled forward, only to see the thing in front of him once again, its long tail coiling, its teeth not far from his face. It breathed and Alfred gagged as the stench of sickness and death washed over him.

And then suddenly there was a flash of white and Matthew was standing between Alfred and the Dark, pushing Alfred back with a strength he didn’t know Matthew had. 

“Matthew get away from that thing!” Arthur cried as black tendrils reached out from the Dark’s black in a hazy mist. 

“ _You’ve_ gotten in my way too many times.” The black cloud wrapped around Matthew and threw him across the room. Matthew hit the wall, hard, and fell. 

Alfred turned, started to run towards the bear, but the Dark was already in front of him, shifting again, less solid, more amorphous. He could just see Matthew behind it, trying to crawl to his feet.

“See what you made me do,” the Dark said to Alfred. 

Alfred shivered. The cold presence was just inches from Alfred’s nose again and he could barely breathe. The air seemed sucked from his lungs. 

The Dark growled lowly. It was almost a purr. “Why are you fighting so much? Do you really think it’s worth it? Nothing feels worth it, does it?” 

His limbs suddenly felt weighted down, everything did. All he wanted to do was sit down. Lie down. Stop. 

Alfred stood straighter, or tried to. He couldn’t-

“This isn’t worth the fight, you know. Did you really think you could do anything? A little thing like you? You seek to be a hero, but you’re incapable of saving anyone, even yourself. All you do is hurt-"

“It’s lying Alfred,” Matthew said from somewhere behind the Dark. “Look how far we’ve-"

“Who are you to stand against me anyway?” the Dark continued, and grew a little larger, fully blocking Alfred’s vision of anything but it. “So full of darkness yourself. Bringer of pain, and sorrow…"

Alfred shook his head, but he knew it was true. He didn’t know how, but he knew-

“You hurt everyone you touch. In one way or another. Always.” 

“Don’t listen to it!” someone yelled, but they seemed far away. His ears were filled with a rushing roar. He heard nothing but _that voice_ …

“No one wants you, you know. Why else would you have been in the woods all alone?” 

Alfred clenched his eyes shut, against his own fears. “That’s not-"

“You’re alone. You’ll always be alone.” The Dark’s voice increased in intensity, “Why would anyone love a pathetic thing like you? Stupid, thoughtless child. Idiot. So full of yourself you see nothing but-" 

Alfred opened his eyes and looked into the darkness. That voice... 

His own, along with so many others. 

“You look sad,” Alfred said, without thought.

The Dark swirled back. Alfred could suddenly hear again, his name being called…

He stepped forward towards it.

“Alfred, stop!” Arthur yelled, and he seemed close but Alfred couldn’t- wouldn’t look back. 

“I’m sorry,” Alfred said, to so many. He held his hand out towards the Dark, taking another few steps closer.

The Dark looked at him, and its silver eyes were dimming. Alfred swallowed and reached out towards it, placing his hand on the cold surface. Felt it thaw under his touch.

It grinned, lips pulling away to show its horrible, gleaming teeth. 

There was a warm hand on his shoulder and a sudden pain spreading through his chest. 

He blinked and time seemed to slow. He couldn’t breathe. 

The warmth, a pressure, spread across his back reaching around to his front. There was a cheek pressed to his neck. 

“-ove, always wanted you. Always loved you.” 

He looked down. Above a red clad arm, a jagged piece of dark ice connected him with the Dark. It disappeared into his coat. Crimson red was flowing down the ice, and staining Elizabeta’s coat, soaking into the arm holding him. 

Holding him. So warm. He felt tears prick at his eyes, and he looked up into the eyes of the Dark, which suddenly looked so confused. The ice connecting it to Alfred was melting, quickly. Its form shifted once again, as the ice and frost melted from it, coalescing into a solid form. 

Standing there in front of him was… him.

His hand was resting on its… his arm. It looked shocked, and pained, and the darkness was gone- for the moment at least- from its eye, now a clear crystal. One silver tear traveled down its cheek. It fell and hit the ground, and the room began to warm, to brighten. 

Alfred saw little of it. His hand fell from the other’s arm and he rested back against the warm presence. 

* * *

Alfred opened his eyes in a different room. He gasped suddenly, hands flying to his chest, and blinked at the phantom pain which was fading deeper and deeper into memory. The cold was gone. Icicles no longer hung down from the ceiling, replaced in this room, by rainbows dancing across the curved walls. 

A flash of red caught the corner of his eye and he turned around, sharply, his hands up to ward off attack. 

Standing there, in an outfit of velvet, was Santa. Alfred wasn’t sure how he knew this, since he didn’t look exactly like Alfred had expected. He looked sad and harried, and seemed to be studying him, but it was him all the same. 

“Sorry,” Santa said, after a moment, “That got a little intense.” 

“Santa?” Alfred asked, letting his arms drop down, although they remained in front of his chest. He tilted his head to the side, as if a slightly different angle would make thing more understandable. “I thought you were supposed to have a beard. And a belly.” 

And then Santa smiled, and things started to feel right again. It was warm and comfortable and friendly. Purple eyes shimmered, reflected in the lilac glimmers in the room. “Humans have their own ideas on things. It’s easier to think of someone grandfatherly in this role perhaps. Would I fit the role better if I had a beard?” 

Alfred frowned, taking a step forward. A hundred memories of tugging on beards and prodding bellies, looking for padding, flashed in front of him. He blinked, shaking his head. “Maybe,” he said, with a wince. His head was hurting, different from the way it had when he was pushed into the wall.

“Oh,” Santa said suddenly, as he closed the distance between them and knelt down, studying Alfred’s face. “I’ve got even less time than I thought, evidently. You’ll be going home soon.” He reached out slowly, and turned Alfred’s head just a little, looking at his eyes, then glancing down at his chest and pressing softly there.

“Home?” Alfred said, brushing his hand away. “But I don’t even remember-“ 

Santa shook his head, “You will. Don’t worry.”

Alfred frowned, uncertain about Santa’s reactions. Something seemed- “Mattie-" he said, a spark of panic jolting him. “Where is he? And Arthur…” 

“They’re okay,” Santa said.

“Are you sure? How can you be-" He said, in ragged breaths. “Is everything… Is _everybody_ okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Santa hummed, with a nod. “Everything’s going to be fine.” 

Alfred’s frowned, “None of it makes any sense. It- he was…” His stomach churned. 

“I know it’s confusing now,” Santa said, taking Alfred’s hand in his. “I’m so sorry Alfred. I hadn’t expec-" he cut himself off and then started again. “Things will make more sense soon.” 

But Alfred couldn’t let it go. Not so easily. It hurt. There was a ball of cold in him and it hurt. Nothing felt right.

“Shh,” Santa said, wiping at Alfred’s face, at the tears he didn’t realize he was crying. 

“How did things get fixed? Did you do something? Were you- I’m just a kid.” Alfred unclenched his hands and looked down at them and the red mittens that held them. “I don’t understand any of it.”

For some reason Santa looked somewhat relieved. “You had a lot of help, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, and tried to swallow around the tightness in his throat.

“Sometimes, Alfred, we all need a little help. People like you, and people like Santa.” He thought, for a second and then put his hand against Alfred’s chest again. “Close your eyes. Can you feel the warmth there?”

Alfred frowned tightened, his eyes squeezed tight. “That’s just your hand.”

“No. Inside there’s a little light, a little warmth. Think about Matthew and Arthur and everyone you helped today. Think about seeing everyone’s smiles. Now, can you feel it?”

Alfred waited a minute, and then nodded, and his expression relaxed, just a little. Then a little more. 

“All you needed was right here. That warmth is what got you through. And everyone has it. That warmth, that light, won’t go out no matter what, but if it starts to feel dim remember other people have that warmth too. And they’d love to share.”

Alfred opened his still troubled eyes to bright warm ones.

“That warmth, if you let it, will help some with that hurt right here.” Santa tapped his finger to Alfred’s chest.

“How did you-" Alfred frowned. 

“I’m Santa, silly.”


	10. Chapter 10

When Matthew opened his eyes he was still sitting in the church pew, but the old man was gone. He rubbed his eyes, trying to push away the grogginess. Then sat up straight in the pew, only glancing at his watch for a second before jumping up.

How in hell had he fallen asleep?

He’d only lost a few minutes, though that in and of itself felt unreal. The dream was only coming to him in bits and pieces, but it seemed as if he should have been out for hours. Until he got back to the car and looked at the clock on the radio, he didn’t completely believe his watch hadn’t stopped… that he hadn’t spent hours sleeping somewhere warm while his brother was…

Somewhere. 

Matthew slammed his hand into the steering wheel. 

He had absolutely no clue about where to go. No idea whatsoever. He should have called someone. Asked some of his neighbors. But no, he’d been an idiot, wandering around with some half-baked… not even plan. There’d been no plan. Just a need to find Alfred. 

His head fell back again the seat, and he raked his hand through his hair, nearly growling out his breath in frustration. 

The longer he sat the agitated he felt, and the more pieces of that dream came back. Snow and ice, a dark cloud over everything... and his brother. The sick feeling of dread washed over him and he shivered, despite having the heat going.

There wasn’t any point in sitting there. But there wasn’t any point in driving around with no idea of where to go either. 

Matthew sat up, backed out of the parking space and pulled out onto the road again, heading towards home. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but there was a very small part of him that whispered, perhaps, there might be something calling him home, some small bit that still held onto that strange twin connection with his brother. 

He knew in his mind though, that the lights would still be out, the house empty.

He was right, in both regards. 

A human shaped form was sitting on the steps, streetlight shining off his blond hair. 

Matthew let out a sigh as he turned off the engine, and then stepped out of the car and jogged towards the door. 

Alfred was leaned over, curled nearly in a ball with his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his torso. He didn’t look up as Matthew approached, but he was shaking. Matthew kneeled down in front of him, opening Alfred’s coat up and laying it over him. He pulled it tight. 

“I l-lost your s-scarf Mattie,” Alfred whispered, without lifting his head up.

“Idiot,” Matthew said, pressing his now gloveless hands against his brother’s face. “Where the hell were you? And why didn’t you go inside? You’re frozen.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, stepping away from his brother long enough to dig his keys out of his pocket and undo the door. When he turned back to his brother to help him up, Alfred just stared at him for a moment. And then his brother unwound an arm from his waist and took Matthew’s hand, lifting himself up off the steps. 

Matthew reached an arm around his brother’s shoulder and pulled him inside, over to the couch. Alfred sat down heavily and Matthew jerked the throw off the back of it, pulling the blanket tightly around his brother. 

He lifted Alfred’s hands up and examined it. He shook his head. They were red, but they didn’t look _too_ bad. How in the heck…

“Kuma?” he yelled. He’d left the bear napping when he’d left. “Kuma!”

“What?” the bear grumbled, a few moments later as he wandered in sleepily from the hall, too slowly. 

Matthew met him halfway, picked him and set him down on his brother’s lap. “Stay here.” 

“He’s cold,” the bear complained. 

Alfred smiled, “T-thought you were a p-polar bear. Can’t stand cold f-fingers?” And he buried his hands into the bears pelt, giving a little tickle.

Matthew blinked. Felt something in him loosen that had been bound tight for weeks. “Behave. Both of you.” 

Alfred just shrugged, pulling Kumakichi in closer. 

The bear looked ready to protest, but with a glance from Matthew settled down sufficiently. 

Matthew got up and walked towards the stairs, turning the thermostat up on the way, and went up to his room. He pulled a pair of pajamas out of his drawers. The warmest softest pair he could find. 

On the way back down he dug the electric blanket and a few extra quilts out of the hall closet.

Alfred was still sitting in the same position as before, with Kumakichi curled up against his stomach. He was shivering. 

Matthew wrapped a few more layers of blankets around his brother.

“What’s w-wrong?” 

He stared at Alfred, incredulous. He clenched his fists, unclenched them. “Idiot!” he spat. “Of all the stupid things to do!” He yelled. 

Alfred winced and looked at the floor.

Matthew groaned, and closed his eyes. Yelling wasn’t going to help. He sat down beside Alfred on the couch, and after a moment he felt his brother lean against his side. 

“Sorry,” Alfred whispered. 

He felt the fight rush out of him, taking all of his energy with it, it seemed. He let out a shuddering breath. “You scared me.”

Alfred sat back, and looked at him with one of the most frustratingly perplexed expressions Matthew had ever seen. “I’m f-fine M-Mattie.” 

Matthew swallowed, frowned. “Damn it, Al.” 

He could feel his brother tense up against him and he sighed, sitting back against the couch and pulling his brother with him. After a moment, Alfred’s relaxed again. “This isn’t just a Christmas thing is it?” he asked.

Matthew could feel Alfred shake his head. He reached across and tightened the blankets around his brother’s shoulders. “How long?” 

Alfred shrugged. “I can’t remember winter not sucking.”

Matthew pulled back to see Alfred’s face. “Al-”

“Hey. I sh-shouldn’t complain so much now. I mean we’ve got central heating and f-food’s not so much of an issue now. I mean there’s always hungry people, still, and it’s c-cold and dark and-"

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Matthew interrupted when he couldn’t stand anymore; couldn’t stand seeing his brother’s expression darkening with each word. 

Alfred looked surprised, and stared at Matthew for a moment, before looking back down at his hands. “Didn’t see th-the point. It’s just how I am, I guess. Winter comes and… well. This. But then spring comes and I’m good again, so…” he shrugged. “J-just figured it was normal for me. That’s all.” 

“There’s nothing about this that’s normal Al… And just because something’s going to get better doesn’t mean it’s okay that it’s hurting to begin with.”

Alfred winced, huddling down into the blankets, pulling them tightly around him.

“Is this the reason I don’t see you during the winter?” Matthew asked. “Cause I’m so cold and-"

“No.” Alfred said bluntly, then winced. “I mean… maybe? But-"

Matthew stood back up, struggling with that last bit of hurt. The years of-

“Matt?” Alfred said, “Mattie. That’s not what I- I don’t see anyone- Ow. Stop that fish-breath.” 

Matthew glanced back over and frowned. His brother was pulling off the blankets and Kuma was holding onto his leg, stopping Alfred from lifting him up off his lap. 

He sighed and walked back over. Sat back down on the couch and stopped his brother from squirming, readjusting the blankets around him. 

“Sorry.” Alfred said, looking at him. “I don’t see anyone during winter. Just Tony and Whale and Unicorn, and then if we have a me-meeting or something then… It’s just-" He winced. “It’s hard Matt.”

Matthew thought about the other day with Mr. Burns and the few times they’d been out. The way anytime they were a few feet from another person that horrible strained grin would be one his brother’s face. How utterly exhausted his brother always was afterwards. 

“I just-" Alfred continued. “I avoid everyone like the plague.” Alfred shivered a little and pulled the blanket a little closer. “It wasn’t ever an issue until now. No one really pays attention to it. Didn’t think…” he shrugged. “That was really stupid, canceling the party and stuff. But…” he glanced over at his brother. “Making you think that was even stupider.”

“Keeping it a secret this long was what was stupid.” Matthew leaned over, resting a bit of weight on his brother. 

“Matt. No offense, but I think we’ve both been kinda stupid.” 

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, but then caught himself. “I’ve been pushing too hard,” he admitted, after a moment. “Isn’t that a flip?” He said, with a weak smile. 

“Like you decided to try a back handspring and changed your mind halfway through.” Alfred was grumbling, but there was a smile on his face. One that actually managed to reach his eyes.

Matthew smiled back. It wasn’t his brother’s normal one hundred watt smile by far, but it made his eyes shine. “That bad, huh? I’ll pull back a bit. Maybe take a few things do-“ 

“Like hell you will,” Alfred said, with a slightly brighter smile. “We got all that stuff out of the basement. I’m not putting it up until I have to. Besides,” he continued, “We take any of that stuff down and we’ve got no shot at all in the lights contest.” 

“You feeling up for it?”

Alfred glanced over at him. “Hell yeah,” he said, and despite the tiredness in his voice it sounded genuine. He leaned back, and stretched, letting the blankets slip off his head and droop down his shoulders. “Just… it has been a lot. Everything. You meant well, I think. But… you can ease off a bit.”

“Maybe call the bet off?” Matthew asked. 

Alfred nodded, and yawned. 

Matthew reached over towards Alfred, adjusting the blankets over him once again. “Still not letting you sleep in ‘til noon.” 

Alfred made a face. “You suck. It’s Christmas vacation. You have to sleep in ‘til noon. It’s like required or something.” 

“Doesn’t count if you’re not in school. It’s a rule. At least in Canada.”

“Dude, you are so full of it,” Alfred grumbled.

Things were quiet for a moment, but the frozen quality Matthew had been fighting against for the better part of two weeks seemed to have melted away. 

“Hot chocolate?” Alfred asked. 

“Sure,” Matthew said, feeling a little more weight lift off of him. “Gotta warm up somehow.” 

“The good stuff?”

Matthew smiled. “Why not.” 

“…and pancakes?” 

Matthew laughed. “A few minutes ago you looked like you were going to fall asleep sitting there. Now you want fed?” 

“I kinda walked out on dinner.” 

Matthew winced. “And you want pancakes?” 

“Is that okay?” 

“Of course its okay. Bacon too.” He started to stand up, but suddenly there were arms around his waist, squeezing, and a still too cool nose against his neck. 

“You’re the best, Mattie.” 

There was something in Al’s voice, and Matthew knew he wasn’t just expressing his appreciation of his cooking. A thank you that was too big to be vocalized. He reached his own arms around his brother, arms going under the assorted layers of fabric. 

Kumakichi grumbled at the two of them, shifting in Alfred’s lap and pushing against Matthew’s stomach. “They weren’t that good.” 

* * *

Arthur woke with a jerk, gasping for breath with his heart pounding in his chest. He looked about, wildly, through the tears in his eyes.

Where was he? Oh god, where was… was… 

He swallowed as the details of the nightmare disappeared. He rubbed his arms, feeling his limbs tremble. He looked down at them, expecting to see dark crimson.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, swiping at the wetness with his sleeve. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and shivered. Not from the nightmare, he realized. It was cold 

Bloody fucking cold. 

The thermostat was still set at a normal temperature. He made sure of that, walking down the hall huddling under a cloak of blankets to check the damn thing. Standing in front of it, utterly perplexed, he ran his hand through sweat soaked hair and was surprised not to find icy tips. 

The unexplainable cold clung onto him, even as he walked back to his room and pulled out the thickest pair of socks he could find, and then, still robed in blankets, made his way downstairs towards the kitchen. 

Making a cup of tea was so ingrained in him that he didn’t have to think about the process, but he forced himself to anyway. He focused on filling the water, and breathed in the scent of tea as he opened up the cabinet. He stood there, making a deliberate choice. It had to be just the right tea. The right cup. At least that way he could make one part of his existence feel right. 

A tiny glint of silver caught his eye as he pushed aside a box, in favor of another. Arthur grabbed it, lifting it away and revealing a figure with familiar silvery wings.

“Neva,” he said, recognizing the rogue snow fairy. “What are you doing here?” 

She squeaked and turned around to face him, frowning. She clutched a small red sack to her chest. 

“What do you have?” 

She raised her eyebrows at him and shook her head, her lips pressed in a tight line.

“Neva,” he warned. “What are you doing in my tea cabinet?” 

She opened her mouth for a moment, shut it, and then disappeared. 

He frowned, pursed his lips. Perhaps a cup of tea wouldn’t be such a good idea after all. 

* * * 

An icy wind blew through the trees. In front of him, in his hands, danced a tiny warm flame. It danced, flickering, as the gust of wind hit him, and he pulled it closer into his body. 

Beyond the flame the darkness shifted, moving out into the clearing.

“Hello Alfred,” the Dark growled. 

Alfred stepped back. “I got rid of you. I don’t have to be afraid of you anymore.” 

“If you believe any of that you really are as stupid as everyone thinks you are.”

Alfred could feel his shoulders pulling forward, hunching around his flame.

It was growing dimmer. He shook himself, calling up all the warm feeling he could. It didn’t seem to do much good.

He hissed in, as a cold burning filled his chest. He looked down to see blood. 

“Oh,” it said, and suddenly it was before him. “Did you really think yourself rid of me?” Its teeth flash again. 

“Stupid child.” 

It leaped at him. He raised his arms up in one last defense and-

Jolted awake. He pushed himself back in the bed until his shoulders hit the headboard and cast his eyes about the room wildly. 

Nothing there… there’s nothing there, he kept telling himself, though the room looked darker than it should have been. Hands cast about wildly for the flashlight he’d brought with him, for his phone. His hands moved through the blankets desperately, finding nothing. 

He clenched his eyes shut and curled forward. 

It was there, stalking him. He knew it. Could feel its presence in the corners of the room, could almost hear its claws clicking against the floor boards. 

His breath caught in his throat as he breathed in, turned into a tight whine as he breathed out. 

“Al?”

“Mattie?” He asked, and his voice was so small, his eyes flew open and he gasped. Why, why did that scare him so much? 

“Are you alright?” Matthew asked from the hallway.

“Y-ye-" he began to stutter out. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. “No. Could you-"

And just like that, the door was opened and light flooded into the room. 

He nearly sobbed in relief. 

Matthew walked into the room and sat on the bed, looking at his hands and his face and-“Nightmare?”

He ducked his head, away from Matt’s view, feeling more than a little ridiculous. 

“Hey no,” Matthew said, pulling his head back around. “It’s okay. Dreams can- dreams can be messed up.” He sighed. “I wasn’t sleeping so great myself…” 

And now that it was mentioned Alfred could see that; the tension in his brother’s form and the tightness on his face. The just-too-high quality of his voice. 

“Matt, can I…” Alfred bit his lip, preparing for the look, the dismissal. “Do you wanna-"

“Come on,” Matthew said with a relieved smile, Alfred’s question evidently coming across clear even without the last few words. 

Moments later they were settling into Matt’s room, having a quick scuffle with the blankets, a tug of war neither were overly serious about. Alfred still had his flashlight beside him, as well as his phone, even thought they’d left the light in the hallway on, let it illuminate the room enough to alleviate some of the darkness. 

And yeah, Alfred thought, grabbing hold of a pillow, this was much better, even if he had to deal with a grumbling polar bear. Matt’s room was lived in. Felt like him. He could feel Matt anywhere within his borders, but _here_ … He relaxed down into the blankets, against his brother and the small furry oven that was Kuma. 

“So,” Matthew said after a moment, when Alfred’s breaths had began to even out somewhat, the panic losing its last hold over him. “What was your dr-"

Alfred shook his head against his brother’s shoulder. He refused to invite that into this space. Then he smiled, without humor. “Monster. I’ll protect you.”

If Matthew heard any of the self-mockery he didn’t acknowledge it. He just pulled Alfred in further against himself. Nodded. “Me too.” 

Alfred’s eyes opened, his lashes brushing against the soft cotton of Matt’s top. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s waist, felt Matt’s hold on him tighten. 

Heard Matthew’s sleepy rumble, “We can protect each other.” 

He felt something inside of him finally uncoil, loosen; yielded to the warmth and let himself drift. 

* * *

Matthew sat on the couch, some random made-for-tv Christmas movie playing… well, paused for the moment, in the background. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the story line. It had a cowboy in it, and an astronomer. It wasn’t great, but Al had picked it voluntarily.

His attention was on the laptop sitting in front of him. It hadn’t taken long to find what he’d needed. A quick search turned up pages of results: health sites, statistics, articles. It made him feel a little better about his decisions over the past bit, even if a few of them had just seemed to lead to disaster. So much of it was about getting out of the house, exercising, socializing. At least he’d had the right idea.

Something told him though, that it might take a little more in Alfred’s case. 

The sites kept mentioning something about a light box. They could at least start with that for the moment. Of course, their status’ as nations always threw a wrench into treating any sort of illness. You never knew if the problem was something arising from your own human body or if it was something to do with being a national personification.

Matthew hoped, glancing at his brother who was on the phone across the room, it was just the former in this case.

“Yeah,” Alfred said with a frown, “I didn’t mean to leave you guys han-" The frown melted and was replaced by a small smile. “No, I’m starting to feel a little better now. Matt-" Alfred’s smile grew. “Yeah my brother. He brought me up here for Christmas.”

Alfred pulled the phone away from his ear at the rather loud, happy, response. Matthew could hear bits of it across the room. “Yeah it’s been…” Alfred glanced over at him, “It’s been good. It’s helped… a lot.” Alfred turned around, towards the kitchen. “I’ll go ahead and let you get back to things. Don’t want to keep you from your lunch- Yeah I know you don’t mind but that doesn’t me-" he paused. “I know Miss Lisa. I won’t.” 

Matthew turned back to the computer in front of him. Things had been better that day, so far. He’d still call Alfred a little ‘low’, tired and prone to melancholy, but it was a marked improvement compared to the previous day.

“Hey Mattie?” Al said, walking back in and resting his arms against the back of the couch. 

“Yeah?” he asked, looking up from the laptop. 

“So I usually spend a lot of time at this community center. But I haven’t since Thanksgiving…”

“Al, I think considering the circumstances…” 

Alfred shrugged. “Yeah, Miss Lisa said pretty much the same thing, but…” 

“You know, sometimes you have to help yourself before you help others,” Matthew said.

Alfred glanced at the computer screen, making a face. “Don’t start getting all motivational poster on me, kay?” 

“My point still stands.”

Alfred shook his head. “These people have been really good to me and I have an idea.”

And that’s how they found themselves with a couple of shopping carts walking down the aisles of Toys r us. 

When Alfred had one of those ideas nothing got in his way. 

“Al, I seriously hope you don’t intend on mailing this stuff out. It’s gonna cost a fortune.”

“Course not,” Alfred said, turning around from a display of craft kits. “Gotta help them unpack stuff after all. I’ll drop it off in person.”

Matthew glanced down at the cart that was already half full, thought about the kitchen supplies Alfred had ordered from the last store. “…Did you think this out at all?” 

“Course I did. We’re just gonna need a really big truck.” 

“And you think I’ve got one just lying around?”

Alfred ignored his question, as his eyes lit on another display. “Matt! Matt! Look at this!” Alfred said with a wide grin, holding up a giant transformer. 

“I think that one goes over the budget a little don’t you?” 

Alfred smiled and shook his head. “Nah.” He set it down in the cart alongside several Barbies and three giant boxes of crayons. “It’s going towards playroom, so they’ll all be sharing anyway. And this one’s a combiner, so they can all play with him. What else do you think? I saw a giant rabbit over there that would be great in the reading corner. Come on.” And he went off with a grin before Matthew could say a thing. 

Matthew followed his brother around the store, laughing and trying to keep up; every now and then rolling his eyes at one of Alfred’s choices or dumping a few of his own into the cart. Alfred highly approved of the stuffed polar bear that was sitting above the rest of the toys in the small children’s seat looking out at the rest of the store. Matthew had put his own money towards some street hockey equipment. He had a thoroughly ‘Alfred’ idea forming in his mind, about cross-cultural programs, and pen pals, and-

He looked up to where Alfred was standing in front of a row of board games, his face a little more neutral than before.

He knew it wasn’t going to last. Every now and then he could see the small bit of drag in his brother’s steps again and he knew by the time they got back to the house that night it would be much more pronounced. Seeing Alfred crash was probably inevitable. But for the moment… 

Matthew thought this might have been one of Alfred’s best ideas in a long time. 

Several hours and several stores later they sat at a small restaurant. It wasn’t one he’d necessarily pick, but it was quick, and they were hungry. 

“So I was thinking maybe we could do a bit of Christmas shopping while we were out.” 

“Isn’t that technically what we’ve been doing all day?” Matthew asked, picking up a french fry. 

“I thought maybe…” Alfred looked back at the small Christmas tree sitting on the counter. “Thought I could pick some gifts and just send them out. It’s too late for the party this year, and the other thing…” 

Matthew nodded his head. “Sorry Al. I tried,” he said after a moment, dipping his French fry in the ketchup on his plate.

“Dude. Don’t apologize for that. It’s not your fault.” He sat his burger down. “I’m not surprised they-"

“Don’t start that,” Matthew warned him. 

Alfred shrugged again. “Just telling it straight. It was a good idea though. And _we’re_ still together. So what if old grumpy gus doesn’t want to show.” 

Matthew nodded. “We’ll try again next year. And the year after that. Make it a new tradition.”

Alfred’s face blanked for a moment, and Matthew was afraid for a moment he’d somehow stepped on an emotional land-mine.

And then Alfred smiled again, tired, but strangely determined. “Can you help me pick out a card?”

* * *

Arthur smiled, good-humoredly all the while mentally cursing the giant oaf who stood before him. The man didn’t have a humorous cell in his body. 

Perhaps if he didn’t feel wound so tight he’d be able to deal with him a little better. As it was the alcohol wasn’t even helping. He’d felt that way all day. 

He told himself it was because of the traffic, or because Mary had seemed sharp with him all day. He told himself adamantly it wasn’t because of last night. He shivered a little, despite the crowd of people around him, ignoring the voice telling him if he were only somewhere else things wouldn’t be so…

He sighed, rubbing his temple and setting his glass down. The room was suddenly just a little too loud, a little too crowded. 

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” he said, slipping off to the side, not waiting for any comments. He walked across the space, nodding where necessary, moving swiftly enough to avoid the attention of anyone who’d catch him and try to get him talking. Off to the side of the room, and down a hallway, he knew there was a small library. It was highly unlikely he’d be disturbed there.

Of course, he didn’t hear the sniffling sound until he had already shut the door behind him. wide and he was about to apologize for intruding when he realized the person in question hadn’t noticed him. 

She sat on the great big chair, scrubbing at her cheeks, digging around in her pocketbook, completely unaware of his presence. Mary. He struggled internally for a moment, uncertain whether to make a quick escape or- He brushed against the shelving on one side of the door, knocking a loose book to the floor. He winced and she looked up. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“Oh,” She said, eyes opening widely. She swiped at her eyes, roughly, 

“Excuse me,” he said, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“No it’s- I’m sorry, I just…” she cleared her throat which still seemed rough and unsteady. “Can I help you with anything?” The tear tracks spread down her face, despite her every attempt to swipe them away. All she did was make the streaking makeup stretch across her face even more noticeably. She looked, quite frankly, miserable. 

He shook his head as he crossed the room, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. “No. I’d just hoped to find a space away from everyone else. These functions can be so…” he sighed, “I have a feeling I wasn’t the only one to have that idea.” 

She took his outstretched handkerchief with a thankful nod and wiped at her eyes. “Yes. They can be a bother.”

He looked off to the side, unable to avoid the criticism. 

“I have a feeling we were trying to escape from two different things. I highly doubt Mr. Wright’s jokes sent you in here. As bad as they are they’re more likely to leave one yawning than sobbing.”

She bit her lip, with a tight smile and nodded. 

“If I’m not prying too much, may I ask what _is_ bothering you?” 

“I…” she looked up, thoroughly miserable again, “It’s really not all that much. Just-" she shook her head. “It’s fine. I’d hate to be a bother.” She started to stand up, swiping at her face all the more furiously, leaving red blotches across her cheeks, either from the rough scrubbing or her own evident frustrations. She turned to go out the door, but he caught her hand. 

“Really,” he said, “It’s no problem at all. You do so much for me. At least let me hear you out,” He said, staring her in the eyes, tapping into his connections with his people, with her, to try to calm her and allay her fears. “It’s not problem. Really.”

She sighed, and sat back down on the chair. He slipped his hand away from hers and sat down on the chair opposite. “My family, well we’re from all over at this point. But my parents… well, my grandparents really. They’re always a stickler for Christmas. We may miss birthdays, or skip family reunions, or any other event- but Christmas…” She shook her head. “In my grandmother’s book that’s practically a sin. And this will be the first year I’ve missed it.”

Arthur opened his mouth, shut it. “And I’m- Why didn’t you just tell me?”

She sat up straighter. “Mr. England, I’m a professional. I don’t just-"

“That doesn’t mean not telling me I’m being unreasonable.”

She shook her head, crossing her arms. “I would have. You know that.”

“Probably.”

“Probably,” she admitted. “But I thought, every year we have it out- my family… well someone in my family does. Just because we’re suckers for Christmas doesn’t make things any calmer. And it’s always so…” she threw her hands up in the air. “I thought, maybe it would be good for me to be away for a year. But…” She looked down at her hands. 

“You have family, don’t you?” she asked suddenly. “But you never really take time of for these sorts of things. And they don’t come over here for the holidays. How do you deal with that? Isn’t it…” She shut her mouth suddenly, “I’m sorry. I’m prying. I only-" she sighed, “It’s so lonely. I never thought it would be. For years I only wanted to avoid them, but now…” 

“It’s all you’re thinking of.” 

She nodded. “Isn’t that so strange. They drive me absolutely batty, but-"

“Doesn’t seem so strange to me.” He sighed. “I’m afraid our situations aren’t so different.” He stood, looking back at the door. “I have an idea. But you’ll have to trust me.” 

She looked up at him, confusion written across her face. “Of course.” 

And he could feel it, of course he could, that trust radiating off of her. He smiled, feeling warm for perhaps the first time that evening. “I think I could probably get you back where you need to be within a few hours time.” 

“Oh,” she said, shocked. “But I couldn’t. It-

“I did ask for your trust,” he said. 

She rubbed her hand on her arm, shoulders tight. “Yes. You did. But I couldn’t ask someone else to fill in for me. Not on Christmas. It’s not right.” 

He smiled. “No. It’s not right. And it shouldn’t have been demanded of you in the first place. But as it turns out I have a small family emergency that needs to be taken care of.” He sighed, “That I should have already been taking care of. So you and me both are going to sneak out of this thing. And of course, since I have no need of you for the foreseeable future I don’t think it would be remiss in giving you a small vacation, with pay as long as you keep track of what’s going on over here for me? Keep me abreast of any situations, without officially going into it if you know what I mean. It would be a shame for this to get cut short.”

“Mr. England, I think that sounds utterly devious of you.” She looked up at him, a smile on her face that she seemed almost afraid to let out. “I like devious.” 

“I thought as much.” He said, standing up. “Now, I have one more job for you while we’re making our escape. If you make a few calls for me. I have a plane to catch.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Happy belated Christmas. Sorry I disappeared for a few days. Christmas and all, plus this chapter has given me no end of problems. It went through roughly three re-writes over the last few days. I said before that there were going to be 11 chapters in total, but this one was getting a little long, so I decided to split it. This chapter here is actually the second to last one. You can probably expect the last chapter on the twenty-ninth. As always, thanks for reading and thanks for the feedback. I value every bit of it.

When Matthew opened his eyes on Christmas Eve morning he… well… he wasn’t certain it _was_ morning. 

Why was he even awake?

The hushed voices next to him were answer enough. 

“Stop moving,” Kumabora said, pushing at Alfred’s head with a small fluffy paw. 

His brother was pushed up slightly, propping himself up with his chest against a small pile, mostly one of pillows but that also evidently including Kumabora. He was rubbing his eyes groggily. 

“Hush up,” Alfred whispered, “You’ll wake up Matt, and you’re the one curled around my head anyway.” 

“If anyone wakes him it’ll be you, cheeseburger breath.” The ball of fur growled softly and pushed Alfred’s head back down. 

“Ow,” Alfred said, grabbing hold of the paw with a smile. “I’m not the one tried to eat the meat raw las-"

“Al?” Matthew said, from underneath his pile of blankets. 

“See,” Kumabora said. 

Matthew pushed his head out from underneath the quilt. “Why are you up? It probably isn’t even-"

A knock from downstairs answered for both of them. 

They glanced at each other, then at the alarm clock.

It was well before six am. 

“Who in the hell?” Alfred said, sitting up and looking towards the window, as if that would tell him.

Matthew was already standing up and walking towards the door. “I’ll be back. Might be one of the neighbors. Emergency or something.” 

Alfred pushed back the blankets and climbed across the bed. “Comin’ with. If someone needs a beating-” 

The knocking on the door came again, loud and insistent. 

Matthew turned around towards Alfred, incredulous. “Nobody who ‘needs a beating’ is going to be knocking on my door.” 

Alfred shrugged. “Maybe a neighbor had a break-in or something.”

“And the burglar’s just hanging around, waiting for you to hand their asses back to them.” 

“Burglars are dumb.” 

“This isn’t _Home Alone_.” Matthew shook his head and walked down the stairs. 

“Never said it was.” Alfred clomped down the stairs after him, holding a hockey stick he’d picked up somewhere along the way. Matthew never thought he’d be so happy to hear those heavy thumps on his floor. 

“Coming,” he yelled from the bottom of the landing. 

He opened the door to a messy blond head of hair hidden behind an armful of colorful packages and Matthew took a step back. 

“Well, it’s about time.” Arthur’s green eyes peered up at him as he poked his head to the side. “Do you know how cold it is out here?” 

Matthew blinked. “Do you know what time it is?”

Arthur’s heavy eyebrows furrowed and his breath came out in a sharp white puff. 

“Oh. Right. Come in.” Matthew said, suddenly coming to himself, and moved out of the doorway as England stepped inside. “Sorry.” 

Alfred was still standing silently at the bottom of the stairs. He hadn’t made a sound since the door had been opened. Matthew was almost afraid to turn around and look. 

Arthur noticed as well, glancing up over Matthew’s shoulder as he pulled off his scarf. The room was still, almost icily so. Arthur nodded a greeting. 

“Look Matt. It’s Scrooge coming by with the Christmas turkey.”

Matthew winced. He couldn’t tell if Alfred was trying for humor or not. 

Arthur looked at Alfred with raised eyebrows. “Yes, well lad. You’re certainly no Tiny Tim.” 

Alfred frowned, then looked down and picked up Kumabora who had made his way down the stairs after the two of them. “Kuma’s small enough I think. Will he do?” 

“God bless us. Give me presents,” The bear growled. 

Arthur bit his lip. “Quite nicely.”

Matthew frowned and stepped towards his brother, his stomach clenching. Alfred was holding Kumabora in front of him, like a shield. Matthew glanced over at Arthur, at the tension in the man’s bearing as he sat the gifts down beside the entry table. He couldn’t help but think this whole thing was going to be a disaster. 

“Come on,” Matthew said to him with a smile. “We’ll take your stuff upstairs and get settled in.” He grabbed a piece of Arthur’s luggage and turned towards the stairs, giving his brother a meaningful ‘behave’ look. “Al’s already moved over to my room…” he said, turning around towards Arthur as they walked up the stairs. “But I haven’t had time to clean up yet, so the other guestroom might be better. It’s smaller, but it’s closer to the bathroom.”

“Whichever is easiest Matthew. You know I can sleep about anywhere. I know I wasn’t exactly expected and I’d hate for someone else to-"

Matthew turned around in the hallway, looking at Arthur with confusion. “We’re not really expecting anyone else.”

Arthur froze. “You’re kidding.”

Matthew gave him a tight smile. “Short notice,” he said quietly. “You’re the only one who managed to come. And as you said, we weren’t really expecting you either.” Matthew opened the door furthest down the hall and set Arthur’s luggage down at the end of the bed.

Arthur followed him inside, glancing about the space. Matthew couldn’t help but feel like he was being looked at under a microscope. Like he always did when Arthur came to visit. He stood by the bed, feeling not a little frustrated. Things had finally started to improve he’d thought. Alfred was doing a little better. Now though… Maybe Francis had been right. Maybe he’d tempted fate. But that was before… Matthew tapped his fingers nervously on his pant leg.

Arthur smiled at him reassuringly. “This is a wonderful room Matthew.” 

Matthew smiled back, crossing his arms. “Was your flight over okay?” 

“Well,” Arthur said. “There were a few hiccups here and there, but ultimately I couldn’t compla-"

A crashing noise came from downstairs and Matthew jumped. He peered out into the hallway. “Al? Kuma?” He paused for a minute, listening, and then turned back to Arthur. “If you’ll excuse me.” He didn’t wait for a reply before darting out the door. 

He ran down the stairs, looking for either of the two likely troublemakers. He finally found Kumabora in the kitchen, standing beside a cabinet, pulling a few kettles out and dropping them on the floor. 

Matthew stood in the doorway staring at the bear. “What are you-" 

“Distracting.”

* * *

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, working at his growing headache. 

Why did he think this was a good idea? The tension was already nightmarish, and he couldn’t foresee it improving much. 

heard a creak in the hallway. “So,” Alfred said, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame, “Why are you here?” His shoulders were tensed, his expression guarded. 

Well, Arthur thought, what had he expected? After essentially a flat out refusal a few days prior… after two hundred years… “I was under the impression I was invited.” Arthur replied, trying his best to keep the bite out of his tone. Patience. That was the best response. God help him, it was one of the things he felt least equipped with at the moment. He sat the luggage down beside the bed, waiting for a response. After a moment he looked back up, and stared at Alfred for a moment, his brows furrowing, then motioned him forward. “Come here.”

Suspicion crossed quickly across Alfred’s face. He stood just a little straighter. 

“You’ve got things you want to say,” Arthur said, pulling his coat off. “So do I. Best we get this out of the way, don’t you think?” He laid the coat across the back of a chair sitting in a corner. His gaze rested on it for a moment, as he wondered, vaguely, if he’d be needing it again in a few minutes. Best not to think about that. Thoughts had power, as much as words did. 

He turned away from the coat to see Alfred crossing awkwardly into the space, still drawn tight, keeping himself within a few feet of the door. 

“Sit,” he said, then internally winced as Alfred balked at what would probably sound to him like an order. “Please,” he continued. “Please sit.” He lowered himself onto on corner of the bed and glanced at the other side. 

After a moment Alfred stepped closer and sat on the opposite edge, keeping several feet between the two of them. 

Memories of a shy toddler hiding in the bushes came to mind. He rarely saw that anymore, the boy who was in many ways as timid as the rabbits he’d been with so frequently.

He was going to have to be the one to start things, he realized. The question Alfred had raised was still hanging in the air above them. 

“We’ve…” Arthur began, then stopped. He’d hoped they’d not have to do any of this. This sort of thing, well… it had been difficult even when Alfred had been young, but then when he’d suddenly gotten ol- appeared older… He sighed. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye on everything, but I’d like to think, on the important things, we’ve managed to…” Arthur paused for a moment and shook his head. Started again. “When it comes down to it, what we value isn’t so different.” He pulled at the cuff of his shirt. “What we _want_ isn’t so different.” 

Alfred glanced over towards him, confusion all over his face.

It wasn’t working. And he _knew_ Alfred could do subtlety when he wanted to… when he tried. Did he have to bloody spell it out? But it wasn’t just confusion, he realized with another glance. His heart ached with recognition. That look, that longing look. The same one he’d seen so often, when Alfred had gotten just old enough to feel embarrassed about asking for anything he’d thought made him look weak. 

He let it propel him forward. “Your brother… your brother, I believe, has wanted this for a very long time, and…”

He realized his mistake before the words had even left his mouth. He saw the tension flash quickly on Alfred’s face, that slight widening of eyes, a paling of the cheeks. It still caught Arthur off guard and he paused; an even worse mistake. A look of resolve flooded Alfred’s face for a moment… just a short moment before it crumbled and he was standing and walking towards the door. 

Panic surged through Arthur and he stood, grabbing Alfred’s wrist before he could get far. “Damn it Alfred. Let me finish!” He turned the boy around as best he could, praying Alfred wouldn’t just refuse to stop, pulling him out into the hallway and down the stairs in the process. “Alfred,” he said again, when the lad refused to look at him. “He’s not- _We’re_ not the only ones, are we?” 

Alfred turned his head away from Arthur’s gaze stubbornly and Arthur could feel his temper getting away from him, but to hell with it. He reached up, taking Alfred’s chin in his hand and turned it towards him, staring into those sky blue eyes. “ _Are_ we?”

After a second Alfred’s head shook. 

And then he shoved Arthur’s hand from his face. 

Arthur drew his hand away, pulling it back towards himself. That shouldn’t have been unexpected. He stepped back, but put himself between Alfred and the door. Not that that would be able to stop Alfred if he wanted to leave. 

Alfred turned around and sat himself down on the bed once again. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, yourself.”

“I could say the same thing, couldn’t I?” Arthur said, crossing his arms

“What are you talking about?” 

“I seem to recall a rather cold rebuff.” He picked at a pilled spot on his sweater sleeve. It was better than looking at the stormy young man now, remembering the cool reply, rejection, that night, so out of character for the usually passionate young nation. The attitude had said even more than his words. “Though you _do_ seem interested enough now, otherwise I doubt you would have let Matthew get as far as he did-"

“Didn’t have to.” Alfred grumbled. 

Arthur let that pass. He had a point after all. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He looked over at Alfred. “Would I have even been welcome? Last time I recall-"

“Yes!” Alfred said suddenly, and then looked in shock at himself. He looked back down at his hands. “That wasn’t ever…”

“You never said a word.” 

“Yeah, well you were perpetually pissy,” Alfred looked up at him, with a frown of his own. “...when I actually managed to see you. And I mean really, what was I suppose to do? Hey we just fought over whatever the fuck it is we’re going on about now, but you wanna do Christmas? Whoever gets the bigger half of the wishbone gets-"

“If I _recall_ that didn’t stop one of us,” Arthur said, his eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you just take me up on my invitation to begin with, if you were so willing to bury the damn hatchet. What did you think I-"

“I didn’t know what the fuck to think. We were still at war, old man.” 

Arthur’s lips pursed. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to calm himself. He couldn’t quite take the force out of his words though, nor the slight clenching of his teeth. “A dinner wouldn’t have done _any_ harm. Would have actually been very beneficial. And we both know as soon as that treaty was signed between the _two of us_ that it was binding. At least as far as we’re concerned. Your refusal was simply-”

“Oh, yeah.” Alfred said, standing. “That’s why you marched on New Orleans two weeks later.”

“I’m a nation you idiot, not a bloody telepath!”

Alfred laughed, bitterly. “My people were right there. You really think they were gonna be happy about me spending Christmas with someone they still saw as the enemy? You really think _you_ were the only one treating me like a kid? I followed protocol.”

“Oh, what a wonderful time for you to actually do something sensible,” Arthur said, sarcastically. 

Alfred winced. Clenched his fists. He began lowly, deliberately, despite his voice trembling. “I wanted you to take me seriously. You know this whole fucking mess was so you would take me seriously. _Listen_ to me.” 

“You really want to know what I thought?” Alfred continued, without giving Arthur a chance to say a word. “I thought it was some sort of trick. Figured it had to be one. I’d been over there at least six times since the treaty of Paris and you barely even _looked_ at me. You never responded to a _single_ letter. What was I supp-"

Arthur could have tugged his hair out in exasperation. “What letter?”

“Every stupid fucking letter I sent you!” Alfred yelled with a cracking voice.

“I never got your damned letters!” But as the words left his mouth his mind was rushing, because no he’d never gotten a letter and… he suddenly wished he was a necromancer- because the need to take what was left of their rotten bodies and kill them all over again... or worse… His own thoughts erupted out in a growl, “Who in the bloody-"

“Yeah,” Alfred turned away. “It was… It was stupid.”

Arthur looked up, sharply, focusing in once again on Alfred, who’d taken his anger entirely wrong. 

“I know,” Alfred continued, in a tight, barely contained voice. “You’re right. I’m an idiot. I just thought- It’s over now; we’re on equal terms so we could-" 

“Alfred that’s not-" 

“That’s _all_ I ever wanted.” The anger burst forth, viciously, but Arthur couldn’t tell who it was directed at anymore. “But evidently I just fuck everything up!" He wheeled back towards Arthur. “Is that what you want to hear?” 

“No,” he said, reaching out towards Alfred, horrified at the train wreck occurring before him. “Calm down, lo-"

Alfred jerked his arm out of his reach, as if Arthur’s hand was a hot poker. “I’m sorry. I’m a fuckup. We know this. But I didn’t mean for- for-” His face was strained, contorting, and there was that damn tale-tell tightening to his lower lip. The expression was like a fist to the gut, even without seeing the wet eyes. 

Arthur reached out again, grabbing an elbow before Alfred could pull away again. “You are _not_. Stop that. And even if you were you’d have come by it honestly.” 

And then Matthew was there too, striding into the room towards them both, looking for all his determination still uncertain. That didn’t stop him from sparing a quick angry glance towards Arthur.

Alfred, once again looked ready to run, splitting his attention between Matthew and the hand resting firmly on his arm. 

“Lets…” Arthur said, and took a deep breath. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” 

Matthew looked over at him warily and nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling his brother with him. Arthur pulled over the chair he’d laid his coat on, placing it so that it faced them. “So…” he said, after sitting down. “Essentially this whole mess comes down to a few now-dead humans who failed to deliver my mail for whatever reason. I never got those letters Alfred, but they were…”

Alfred winced, drawing into himself preemptively.

“They were _not_ stupid. And even in my bitterest moments they would have been welcome…” then he shook his head, thinking back to those first few years after the war, and being completely honest with himself. “Not initially perhaps,” he amended, “but they were a very… a very _wise_ and thoughtful gesture. One that I would have eventually been very… happy to have received. I wish…” He smiled sadly. “I wish things could have gone differently…”

“Arthur…” Alfred began, and his voice sounded so tired. Arthur almost felt himself wilt just hearing it.

Arthur held his hand up, “Please, let me finish.” He waited to see if either of the two objected, but they just waited for him to go forward. 

“I’ve been a bullheaded, stubborn fool. An _idiot_ ,” he added, looking at Alfred. Then he turned towards Matthew. “I shouldn’t have ever let things affect you so much, no matter my quarrel with your brother.” 

Alfred shifted uncomfortably on the bed, picking at his fingers. He nodded. “Sorry Matt.” 

Matthew looked at the both of them as if they’d grown additional heads. And didn’t that just make him feel like worse of a heel. 

He continued on, despite… or because of his discomfort. “Alfred you were right. I have a problem with listening. I didn’t listen very well back then, and I still don’t. I’m afraid I’m not very good at it evidently and I let thi- I let people get hurt because of that. I hurt you boys, and myself, in the process. This recent-” And there was another sharp glance from Matthew, “or perhaps not so recent situation. That was-" he paused, searching for words, “it illustrated that fact very well. Even if I was angry, I should never let things get so far. Matthew I should have listened to you from the beginning about this whole mess. I did you a disservice by ignoring you…” he turned towards Alfred, “And _you_. I’m afraid lad, you aren’t nearly as stealthy as you’d like to think yourself.” 

Alfred looked up at him, eyes flying wide in panic. His pale cheeks suddenly reddened. Arthur pursed his lips, feeling an ache at the wounded look barely hidden in those normally bright blue eyes.

He shook his head. “There’s no reason to be ashamed of something like that. Ignoring my suspicions however… I’m not sure how forgivable that is. So I won’t ask for that.” 

The room was quiet for a moment, too still.

And then there were suddenly arms thrown around his neck, a too warm, slightly damp, cheek pressed against his own. And within second there were more arms, another boy clutching him, longer hair tickling his neck. He froze, for just a moment, and then wrapped his own arms around them both. 

They stayed like that for far longer than should have been comfortable, but none of them seemed willing to move away. Something was mending, something delicate. If they moved too soon… 

Arthur himself finally shifted them around in the end, getting up off the chair and moving the two boys so he could sit between them on the bed. And, oh… he’d forgotten how comfortable it felt to have the two of them leaning against his shoulders, pulling them in close. 

“Mattie,” Alfred said, after a few minutes. “My jacket… there’s a- would you bring my jacket?” 

“On the bed?” Matthew asked, and his own voice was rough. 

Alfred nodded at him. “Yeah,” he said, “should be.” 

It only took a moment for Matthew to come back with the jacket and lay it in Alfred’s arms, then sit back down on Arthur’s other side. 

Alfred shifted a little, scooted back long enough to pull out an envelope from the pocket and hand it to him.

Arthur unwound his arm from Alfred’s back and held the envelope in his hands, fingering the edges. 

Alfred looked over at him anxiously, his knee doing sharp little movements. Arthur’s own hands were less than steady, he realized. Arthur took pity on them both and opened the envelope. 

The cover, he saw as he pulled the card out, was embossed, with several figures in the image: one fully grown, two very small- and one snowman.

“Mattie helped pick it,” Alfred said, smiling at his brother, and then winced as Arthur opened up the card. The left side was covered in half formed words and scratched-out lines. “I didn’t write anything…” he continued. “Nothing sounded right. But I’ve been trying to give you one of those things for two-hundred-some years and…” 

Arthur smiled at the card, reading the pre-written message, and then flipping the card back over to its front. His fingers traced over the embossed image. “It’s a beautiful card, love. Thank you. Both of you.” 

And Arthur thought back to his trudging steps up to the door just a relatively short time ago, to the nice looking snow that had stuck so well to his shoes. 

Remembered a misshapen, lopsided figure and a toothy grin, and smiled all the brighter himself. 

He needed more snowman memories in his life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. So this is it, the final chapter. Sorry it’s taken a bit to get this last one finished, but I thought it would be better to have it exactly right instead of rushing. Thank you to everyone who’s followed along with the story, especially to those of you who had misgivings. I hope it turned out okay. And thank you so much to anyone who’s left comments, or bookmarked, or left kudos. All of that support was awesome, and I don’t know how to thank you all enough for it. Also, a quick note. I tend to compile playlists when I'm working on stories. This one admittedly got a little long. I'll be posting it somewhere if anyone wants to take a peak at that.
> 
> Also, Charles = New Zealand

Alfred knelt down at the row of bushes on the side of the house, a small pile of snowballs beside him. He’d slowly stockpiled them over the past hour or so, squirreling them away bit by bit. He smiled. Arthur and Matthew didn’t have a clue so far. Now all he had to do was-

“Al?” he heard Matthew yell. 

He stood up, brushing the snow from his jeans and yelled back, “Yeah?” 

“I need to grab something out of the shed, but it’s kind of shoved in the back. Would you help me just a second?” 

He stood up and walked towards the back, looking for his brother, who was… 

Nowhere to be seen. 

“Matt?” he yelled, walking around the edge of the shed and peering around. 

Still no sign of him. He frowned, walking towards the back of the small building. He turned the corner, looking between it and the fence, thinking maybe he’d-

The snowball that hit his head, knocking his hat off, stopped his thought cold. “Hey,” he said turning around, only to be bombarded. 

“Thought you were being sneaky, eh?” Matthew said, walking towards him with an armful of un-thrown snowballs. “Figured you’d catch us by surprise?” 

“Well,” Alfred said, stepping backwards with a shrug, “Kinda.”

He broke out in a run across the backyard, taking a few hits to the back as he sprinted towards the house and his admittedly small pile of snowballs. He was almost there, just had to turn the corner when-

“Oho,” Arthur laughed, stepping out in front of him and pelting him with more snow. “Surrender. You’re outnumbered!” 

“Never!” He yelled, and he stepped back as far as he could, looked back and sought cover behind a tree. He bent over and grabbed a handful of snow, not worrying about forming it tightly, just trying to get something to throw. 

“That only works if it’s one on one, lad,” Arthur said, as he dodged. 

A snowball suddenly hit him in the back of the head. He turned his head to see Matthew grinning at him from behind the shed. 

“You trying to give me a concussion or something?” He yelled, while throwing a snowball of his own. Matthew laughed loudly from behind the small building when it missed him, clipping the edge instead.

They were right. At this point he was surrounded, but there was still one small opening if he could run fast enough. He scooped up an armful of snow and took off running towards the other side of the house and the driveway. He tossed a ball of snow at Arthur as he ran past, hitting his shoulder. 

His sneakers slid a little on the pavement and his hands reached out for the stability of the home’s brick exterior. He slowed down just a little, just as much as he dared. They were just behind him. A snowball landed just past him in the driveway… Almost there… 

Yes! He grinned as he saw the front yard in view. Space and fresh ammunition. He pushed for more speed as he neared it, caution thrown to the wind and his foot hit the very edge of the driveway, probably the sole truly icy part. There was a split second where he felt weightless, and then was lying face-first in the snow. 

It seemed to be a growing trend, he thought. One he could do without. 

“Al?” He could kind of hear Matt yell behind him. Things, admittedly, sounded a little muffled, but he could tell he only had a moment to get himself prepared. His arms were already underneath his chest. The snow was killing his face, but… he smiled… wait for it… 

“Al are you-"

Now! 

He sprung up to his knees and pulled Matt down into the snow, cackling. 

“You cheat!” Matthew yelled, pushing against his brother’s chest as Alfred rolled them around. Matthew grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it under his scarf.

Alfred gasped at the sudden cold burning and smashed snow into his brother’s face in retaliation. 

“Matthew,” Arthur said, from somewhere above them. “I think you have guests.” 

They stopped and looked up from their place on the ground. A yellow cab slowed as it approached the house and then pulled into the lower part of the driveway. 

Alfred grabbed one final handful of snow and brought it down on the top of Matthew’s head as he stood up. 

The door to the cab opened and out popped a familiar dark head of hair. “Hey!” Kyle yelled. “We’re here!” 

Matthew sat up and brushed snow out of his hair, a smile spreading across his face. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Charles, who’d gotten out on the other side of the car, shrugged. “We didn’t want to get your hopes up, since things were kind of in the air, but things opened up at the last minute.”

Alfred walked over to them as the cab driver walked around and opened the trunk. He reached in and grabbed several pieces of luggage, hefting them up easily, then took a good look at Kyle, who was grinning and shifting his weight for foot to foot. “You’re surprisingly awake.”

“Well,” Kyle said, grabbing another bag and lifting it up on his shoulder. “We actually got here yesterday.”

Matthew frowned, taking one of the suitcases from Alfred’s grasp. “Why didn’t you call or anything? We could have met you at the airport.” He glanced over towards England. 

Kyle made a face. “The combined flights were over twenty two hours long. What do you think?” 

Charles stepped around the car, his own bags in hand. “We spent a good part of yesterday sleeping.”

As they crossed the yard they stopped to look up at the house. Kyle poked at the lighted spiral shaped Christmas trees lining the yard. “It looks like Christmas exploded here Matt.” 

“Pretty awesome, huh? Wait ‘til you see it tonight,” Alfred said, smiling wide. 

“It’s something alright.” Arthur raised his eyebrows. 

Matthew shook his head. “It gets worse every year. And now with the contest…” 

“Blame yourself for that one,” Alfred replied.

Matthew froze, standing in the entry and staring at him. “You knew?”

Alfred shrugged. “Melanie filled me in. Shame we got third this year. I’m telling ya Matt, next year we’re going all high-tech on this shit.” 

“If the moving Santa and Rudolph isn’t high-tech I’d like to know-” Kyle said, looking behind him at the display in the yard.

“No Al,” Matthew said as they sat the luggage down in the hallway.

“ Aw… why not.” Alfred frowned, crossing his arms. 

“Because I don’t want someone having a seizure in front of the house.” 

“Totally wouldn’t happen.” 

“You use strobe lights for everything.” Matthew frowned as he tugged a bit of snow out of his hair. 

“That’s Halloween,” Alfred replied. “I never bust that out for Christmas and you know it. Christmas is for twinkling and-" he paused at Matthew’s look. “Hi-tech can be twinkly.” 

“Come on twinkly,” Kyle said, with a grin. “Show us where to put this stuff.” 

* * *

They’d just settled in around the living room, luggage taken upstairs to a swiftly cleaned room and hot chocolate passed around, when there was a knock at the door. 

“Were you expecting guests Matthew?” Charles asked, as he sat his mug down on the side table. 

Matthew shook his head and stood up. “No. I wasn’t. But here _you_ are. All of you.”

A moment later a familiar loud laugh drifted from the foyer.

“Damn,” Arthur said, his face tightening. “He followed me across the Atlantic.” 

Alfred stood. “Francis?” 

“Joyeux Noël,” Francis said as he walked in with a bright grin. Mathew followed behind him, surprise still painted on his face and his arms struggling to hold a pile of boxes. 

“Heaven help us all,” Arthur said and walked out of the room.

Francis smiled, following him with his eyes, and then walked up to Alfred, kissing him on the cheeks.

Alfred blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Francis looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Is that any way to greet someone on Christmas?” He let go of Alfred’s arms and tugged off his scarf, shaking his hair as it caught on the thick woven fabric. “And I am here to celebrate Christmas with you. If you have no objections?” 

Alfred shook his head, looking a little dumbfounded. 

France frowned, concentrating hard on Alfred’s face. A sudden sense of déjà vu swept through Alfred. Then Francis reached up and patted his cheek with a smile. “Christmas is a time of cheer mon chou. If sometimes we need a little help with that-" he shrugged, “Then it is our dear ones who must lend their help.” 

Alfred smiled. “I thought you were busy.” 

“There are things more important than workshops. I told them I had something that must be taken care of. There were several able to fill in for me, not nearly as competent of course, but they were sufficient,” he said simply. “Now-" he turned around, “Matthew. I doubt that you have enough provisions here to deal with this group. I would suggest we go and see what we can find, and see what we need to get. Your kitchen is not quite the level I am used to working with but-"

“You could be stuck anywhere and your food would still taste great,” Alfred said, with a smile, faint memories of warm cabins and warm meals filling his mind.

“You sweet boy,” Francis said, squeezing Alfred’s cheeks between his hands. “That still doesn’t mean you get pre-dinner samples.” 

Alfred pouted and started to complain, but the continued warm smile on Francis’ face stopped him. 

He looked around the room, as Matthew led Francis into the kitchen, and Arthur came back in to talk with Charles and Kyle, and smiled, reveling in the warmth- gripping it tightly, to keep it from slipping away.

* * *

Several hours later Francis stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. 

Arthur was standing in the back of the living room, seemingly unobserved by the rest of the group, who were playing a video game. His expression seemed mixed, as he watched them.

Francis could tell he had his eyes on two of the young ones specifically. It had been the case for the past few hours. It was understandable. It had been the case for himself as well throughout the afternoon, as he found himself pulling them close when he could and watching them when he couldn’t. 

The tired eyes, which Alfred tried so desperately to hide, had especially caught his attention. Francis had seldom seen them like that, not during peacetime. At the moment they were probably closed as he leaned over on his brother’s shoulder. It took a bit of effort not to cross the room, to get a better look, just to check, but no, he seemed content enough. Without looking, Francis knew Arthur was having the same struggle. 

Their twins would always be causing trouble for them, in one way or another. This in particular though was new to both of them. Would take some adjustments.

“So I see you finally saw reason.” Francis said, leaning against him in the doorway.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Hmph,” he stepped away, after nudging him not so gently back, “And who was the one who arrived here first?” 

Francis shrugged and nodded. “I did not expect to see you quite so wet when I arrived. And I noticed an amusing addition to the decorations in the front yard. I didn’t realize it was possible to make a snowman quite so visibly grumpy.” 

“The bear thought it would be amusing evidently.” Arthur said, “While we weren’t looking he added a few branches to the face too.”

“Yes,” he said, “I believe that addition added a certain something.” After a moment he added, “I will not expect anything like a thank you, or a ‘you were right’ or-"

“Be that as it may, you were.” 

Francis nearly dropped his towel. 

“Enjoy it frog,” Arthur said, with a sideways glance, “that will never happen again. And I wouldn’t start yelling about it, if I were you.” 

Francis grinned over at him. “But why not? I’m thrilled with my early Christmas gift, should I not be vocal about it?”

“I’m not saying it for my sake,” Arthur said, nodding his head towards the boys sitting in front of the tv. 

Francis nodded after a moment. “A Christmas gift for you as well Arthur. You are right.” 

A burst of laughter from the living room nearly drowned him out, but he could tell Arthur had heard him. Francis smiled, both at Arthur’s gruff barely-vocal response and the presence of Alfred’s laugh amongst the others, not as loud as usual perhaps, but there all the same. Matthew had also looked more and more relaxed over the past bit, especially after Francis noticed him talking in hushed tones with Charles and later Charles whispering something in Kyle’s ear. The circuit had been completed with a quick nod and thumbs up. Francis hadn’t pried, although by the way they kept glancing over stealthily over at Alfred… 

He glanced over at Arthur, who was watching them like an overprotective hen and shook his head. “Now,” he said, “I cannot believe I am saying this, but, for your sake as well as theirs, come into the kitchen. They do not need us hanging over their shoulders this evening.” 

Arthur sputtered, “I- I am not hangin-"

Francis shook his head with a smile and pulled Arthur into the kitchen by the elbow. 

* * * 

It was scarcely five when the light began to fade, and along with it Alfred’s energy. Francis and Matthew were working in the kitchen, Arthur, for some reason, was with them, and Kyle and Charles were doing something upstairs. He found himself sinking tiredly into the couch, his head against the armrest.

The high- no, he corrected himself, the normalcy- couldn’t last, Alfred realized. He was thankful for the reprieve, but he knew better than to hope it would stay. It just didn’t work like that. 

It was nice, having everyone around, for just a bit. It had been nice, he realized, not being alone for the past couple of weeks. He pulled the crocheted throw off the back of the couch onto himself, wrapping himself up as much as he could. 

But he knew it could only stay like this for a little while longer. A Christmas visitor might be welcome, but once Christmas was over... He curled himself a little tighter against the couch. Maybe he’d manage to stay a few more days. All of the others celebrated Boxing Day, and Arthur said something about being around for a bit. And Matt would need help taking down the decorations. He could put off going home until then at least. 

And even afterwards, he could handle it. Had been for long before now, he reminded himself. He swallowed, feeling the ache in his chest, and pulled the throw a little tighter, tugging it over his face when his eyes began to burn. He closed them, welcoming the sleepy haze.

A warm hand on his head roused him some time later. The show that had been on when he lay down had gone off, some sitcom replacing it. “Mon fils, if you are not careful you will sleep through dinner.” 

“Mmph,” he mumbled in response, trying to press his face farther into the couch without making the warm hand go away. 

The hand moved, but only to pull the throw away from him a little, exposing his face. The room was dimmed, the lights of the tree casting a pleasant glow throughout.

Francis squatted in front of him, looking him in the eyes and frowning slightly, his expression thoughtful. He said softly, almost to himself, “Such a long expression.” 

Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but the hand moved back to rub gently at the place above Alfred’s eyebrows, then just behind his ear. He felt his eyes flutter shut. 

He could have lay there forever, with that warm hand rubbing away the tension, but just as he felt himself relaxing further the hand moved away. 

“Come,” Francis said, and patted his arm. He pulled back the throw and Alfred grumbled. “Non.” Francis nudged him into an upright position. “You will feel better if you get up and move. And you will need sustenance if you’re going to accompany us later to midnight mass. I will not having your stomach growling at all of us throughout.” 

Alfred rubbed his eyes, wincing at his slightly puffy eyelids. 

Francis sat beside him on the couch and pulled his hand away from his face. “That will make it worse. If they still bother you later we will do something for them, but for now we are holding up dinner. I’m afraid Arthur has already been complaining about my perfectionism and making him wait. Swear to me Alfred, that if I ever decide to let him into the kitchen again you will give me a good whack. He has been an utter nuisance.” He shook Alfred’s hand a little, “Hmm? You will do that for big brother?” 

Alfred felt himself smile a little and nodded.

“Good.” And he squeezed his hand, before standing and pulling on it. 

Alfred followed as they walked towards the kitchen, blinking away some of the tiredness as his eyes adjusted to the increasing light. Francis led him over to a spot at the table between Matthew and Arthur and he sat down obediently.

The room was quieter than he would have expected. He felt his face warm just a little and looked down at his plate, certain, at least to a degree, that it was his fault. Matthew poked his arm and Alfred glanced over at him. His glance was met with an encouraging smile. 

He looked up to see Kyle staring at the spread on the table. “You know, not that I’m complaining about being fed or anything. But isn’t this kind of… elaborate for Christmas Eve?”  
“Réveillon,” said Francis and Matthew. Alfred nodded somewhat groggily.  
“Francis gorges himself on Christmas eve instead of Christmas day,” Arthur said, looking over at the two youngest nations.  
“We’ll be doing a bit of both this year.” Matthew said. “Of course,” he continued, after a moment, “We’re having it a little earlier than traditionally. I think if we waited ‘til after church Alfred wouldn’t make it through. He’d fall asleep in the gumbo.” 

Alfred gave his brother an empty glare, before his sleep-addled brain caught up with the words and his eyes flew open. He glanced about the table, until… yes… he breathed in, inhaling the warm scent coming from not two feet away.

Francis smiled at him and nodded, “And so we are having dinner a little early. And when we get back we can eat again if we wish.” 

After a short time of plates, and subsequently mouths, being filled, Arthur cleared his throat. “I wanted to thank you, Matthew, for having us. It’s been very nice, being here, and I was thinking. It’s been a very long time since you’ve visited me during the holidays. Since any of you have.” He glanced about at the rest of them. Taking particular care to meet Alfred’s eyes. “I was thinking it would be nice, if you would like, perhaps to take Christmas next year in London.” 

There was a positive response all around the table, but Arthur’s eyes remained on Alfred’s.

“Well lad,” he said, “What do you say?” 

He hadn’t realized until that moment that he hadn’t said a word.

Then Alfred realized with a start that they were _all_ looking at him. “Um… Yeah,” he said, suddenly feeling strangely mute. Something was bubbling up, threatening to overtake him. He nodded his head. “Yeah sounds…” he managed, just barely it seemed, with a smile, “Sounds good.” 

Arthur smiled back, a bit of relief in his eyes.  
“Well,” Kyle spoke up. “Speaking of trips, I had an idea too. As much as I appreciate the sentiment Matthew, it’s damn cold here.” He continued on, even as Charles glanced over at him. “I think a good thawing out will be order, at least for some of us. And,” he added looking over at Alfred, “Thought it might be a good idea to get you some real sunlight. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten some surfing time in. Last time was… what two years back?” He dug his fork into a bit of Tourtière. “I’ve found a new spot since then. Figure maybe this year we could finally get Matthew here to-"  
“I can surf just fine,” Matthew protested, while Kyle continued on, talking about Arthur’s pasty complexion, to the Englishman’s own complaints.

Kyle looked over at them with a smirk before looking over at Alfred. “So…?” 

Alfred nodded, and tried again to answer, but his throat had grown tighter. “I-,” and he felt very suddenly a wetness on his cheeks. He brushed roughly at his face. 

“Oi,” Arthur said, softly, “No sobbing over the food lad.” He handed him a napkin and rested a hand on Alfred’s arm. 

“Oui,” said Francis, who was suddenly behind him, at his shoulder. “As you will soon see Arthur has already added enough salt to the mushrooms to give us blood pressure issues for years to come.”

Alfred shook his head, his face still too warm. He cleared his throat. “W-was probably pissed over how French the meal was. No mince whatevers and stuff.” 

Matthew smiled over at them. “Well, I happen to like mince pies, so he’ll be getting that tomorrow when you and I take over the kitchen.” 

Francis sputtered. “M-Matthew I don’t-" But he was looking straight down at Alfred.

“Hey,” He said, through the lump still in his throat, looking up at Francis. “I’ll have you know my pecan pie and ham are awesome.”

Matthew nodded at Francis, who shrugged and walked back over to his seat. “Besides, we already bought everything and we’re the hosts,” he smiled over at Alfred. “This year you all get a North American Christmas Dinner.” His face suddenly fell. “Of course, next year…”

The lot of them looked over at Arthur, horror on their faces. 

“Is it too late to stop that particular Christmas tradition?” Kyle asked.

* * *

It was the early morning hours when Finland flew over Canada’s home. He looked down at it, smiling tiredly with a yawn. He winced. He’d perhaps overdone it that year. There were, after all, still quite a few time zones to work through. 

He thought though, that it was worth it, even if he’d be sleeping for the next few days. Everything seemed to have worked out well. He’d already managed, stealthily, to check in on the Italian brothers and certain stubborn trio. 

This group though… it had been difficult. He’d had his doubts. It had turned into a pretty intense experience in the end… an unpleasant one perhaps, he admitted. He rubbed his own chest in sympathy, wincing with the lingering guilt. He thought back to a conversation he’d had years ago, on Christmas. His gift hadn’t _quite_ turned out the way he’d wanted it to. He hadn’t been cautious enough. 

But at least, according to his little assistants, things had gone off without a hitch on their end. And things had turned out well in the end. He smiled down at the tiny fairies snoozing on the seat beside him. They’d been invaluable really, even if Arthur had managed to catch one of them after the fact. Oh well, they’d know soon enough, he thought, as a wrapped box appeared in his hand. 

He stared at it for a moment, wondering perhaps if he should let things be. But no, things needed to be wrapped up. He had a feeling they already knew a bit of the truth. It would be unfair not to let them know the rest. 

And, after all, he thought, looking at the box and adding a little something before letting it drift off towards the home, a gift needs a card.

* * *

Matthew had been right. Alfred had felt his eyes drooping even before they’d managed to get to the church, and he’d fallen asleep on the way back, his head falling over to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. He would have expected a gruff comment, a scowl, but Arthur had just gently nudged him awake once they’d pulled into Matt’s driveway. He thought maybe the others had stayed up for a while, but he’d gone straight to bed, exhausted… pleasantly exhausted, he had to admit, unlike earlier in the day. 

He hadn’t expected to wake up quite so early on Christmas morning. He’d become accustomed to waking up with difficulty if he was dealing with something less than ten hours, but he wasn’t about to complain about the unexpected energy. The vast quantities of tiny Americans waking up and tiptoeing down hallways and stairs were probably to blame. He smiled, feeling light and relishing in the sensation. 

Matthew, just a few feet away was still thoroughly asleep. 

Alfred’s smile grew wider. 

“Matt” he stage whispered, and poked his brother’s arm. “Matt. Mattie.” 

“What?” Matthew finally asked, his eyes still firmly closed. 

“It’s Christmas.” 

“It’s too damned early is what it is.” But Matthew opened his eyes anyway, undoubtedly feeling the same early Christmas morning happenings: tiny hands reaching towards stockings, peaking around corners, pushing parent’s doors open to-

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Alfred asked. 

“I’m thinking Francis is somewhere in the house and we don’t know where.” 

Alfred grimaced. 

“Exactly. But,” Matthew continued with a sleepy smile, “We also know that Kyle is here. And I know he can get just as antsy as you.” 

Alfred chuckled, shuffling down deeper into the bed and pulling the covers up over his shoulders. “Wait for the screams?”

“Yup.” 

They didn’t have to wait long, maybe fifteen minutes or so. 

There was very conspicuous, if muffled, laughter from the hallway, along with shuffling feet. 

“Do they think they’re being sneaky?” 

“I don’t think they care.” 

Moments later there they could hear a door opening and more shuffling feet. They waited. 

“Aw,” Alfred said, “No screams.” 

“Wait for it,” Matthew said, holding up a finger. 

And then. Yes. 

A scream, and a British yelp, followed by running feet and very loud laughter. 

“What do you think you’re doing you-" 

The sounds of a scuffle.

“Ow,” Francis managed to say between guffaws. “Arthur you do not-"

“Think we should rescue him?” Alfred asked. 

“Which one?” 

Alfred thought for a moment, then shrugged.

Matthew smiled and shook his head. “Nah.”

They waited a few moments for things to settle down, before venturing out into the rest of the house. 

They found Kyle looking forlornly down at the floor in the living room. “My eyes,” he said as he looked up at them.

“Not going to ask,” Matthew said, sitting down on the couch.

Charles looked over at him, clutching a stuffed sheep to his chest. “Please don’t.” 

Kuma walked in after them and tugged on Matt’s pajama leg. “Breakfast.”

“I vote presents first,” Alfred said. “Who’s with me?” 

Kyle and Charles raised their hands. 

“I vote presents, if only because the frog will want to eat,” Arthur said as he walked in.

“Arthur that is not fair,” Francis said, following him with a cup of coffee. 

Alfred’s eyes drew towards the mug in Francis’ hand. 

“You already cast your vote,” Francis said, sitting on the recliner. 

“Let’s get started then,” Alfred said, pulling a box out from under the tree and tossing it to Charles. 

And so Christmas morning erupted into a fury of paper and ribbons and … well… more paper. It only took about fifteen minutes for the pile around the tree to be demolished. 

“That should be everything, shouldn’t it? Nothing else?” Kyle asked, scanning the space under the tree, with a slightly hopeful eye.

Arthur shook his head, glancing over from his place in the armchair beside the fireplace. “I think there’s one more over there.” 

Alfred frowned and crawled over the couch, more specifically over Matthew and pushed a pile of paper aside. “Yup,” he said, ignoring Matthew poking him in the ribs. “One more. 

“Yeah?” Kyle’s eyes widened. He stood up and crossed over the space, stepping over Charles on the way. “Wouldn’t be one for me would it?” He said, with a grin.

“No idea,” Alfred said, getting off the couch and squatting down in front of the tree. “It’s not one we had here.” 

“Well, I didn’t bring it.” Francis said.

They frowned.

“Who’s it from then?” Arthur said, puzzled. 

Alfred shrugged and picked it up, studying it. It was a relatively small box, but- “It’s heavy.” 

“Well,” Arthur said, “Don’t just sit there staring at it. Pass it over.” 

“Who says it’s for you. There’s no tag on it.” 

Charles looked at it, with a tilted head. “Why don’t you open it, Alfred?” 

Alfred looked at the box and then sat down on the floor beside him and peeled off the paper. Gone was the manic ripping from earlier. There was something… some familiar tingling just on the edge of his… 

Alfred shook his head. That was ridiculous. But… 

The box underneath the paper was sturdy and covered in a velvety material. A corded latch held the top closed. He undid it and pushed the lid back to find a snow globe. 

Alfred was transfixed, as he pulled it out and ran his fingers against the golden base. He curled around the snow globe ever so slightly and shook it, watching as the snow fell around the small figures inside: a small boy with a familiar cow-lick holding a small polar bear and a toy clown, a red and black clad soldier, and a smallish Santa with bright purple eyes and a fake beard hanging off one ear. Behind them stood a castle, with familiar smiling faces in the windows. 

No one said a word.

“Hey,” Kyle said, puzzled at the odd reaction. “There’s a note.” He picked it up from where it had fallen off the bottom of the snow globe and handed it to Alfred.

 _Even a Miracle Needs a Hand_. 

Alfred blinked and leaned against the couch where Matthew sat. Matthew, who was staring at the note and snow globe over his shoulder, reached his arms around him and pulled his brother in closer.

“Excuse me, just a moment,” Arthur said, as his eyebrow twitched. 

He stood up and left the room. A door closed somewhere in the house and the sounds of his irate cursing filled the house. 

“Ah Noël,” Francis said, leaning back into the recliner and taking a sip of coffee.

* * *

Things calmed down a little afterwards. Matthew had insisted everyone go into the kitchen for cinnamon rolls. He pushed a few towards Arthur, along with a few glances towards a somewhat paler Alfred, when he insisted on stewing at the table. 

Since then Arthur had disappeared, Matthew assumed to make some calls, since he’d pulled his phone out during breakfast.

Alfred had seemed fairly lighthearted throughout, despite the pallor. Matthew didn’t really notice anything amiss until some time later, when Francis was asking about plans for the next day and Kyle was asking Matt about showing him the ropes on hockey. He’d looked up, wondering who Alfred would probably pick for his own team, only to notice that Alfred wasn’t there. 

He slipped away a few minutes later, when the subject changed. 

Arthur was in the kitchen, his arms crossed, wearing a tight expression as he spoke into the phone. Matthew walked past the door without getting his attention and made his way upstairs. 

“Al?” Matthew asked, looking into his bedroom. His brother lay curled up on the bed. 

He walked around the bed, stepping over a few t-shirts that had fallen to the floor, looking to see if Alfred was asleep. 

His brother’s eyes were open, staring at the wall. They blinked slowly.

Matthew bit his lip, feeling a knot of unease gathering.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down on the side of the bed.

Alfred sighed, pointing at the light box Matthew had given him the day they’d went shopping. “I don’t think its working.” 

Matthew frowned. “You just got it two days ago. It’s not supposed to be an instant thing you know. You’re being too impatient.” 

Alfred shrugged. He turned his face a little into the pillow.

Of course, even as impatient as his brother could be, he’d know that this sort of thing didn’t change overnight. He’d been living with this for who knows how long after all.

After a moment Matthew stretched out on the bed, facing him.

“You know, if you don’t feel better right away it’s okay,” Matthew said, “I’m not going to just leave you hanging.” 

Alfred looked up from the pillow and the rest of his bangs were sticking up to match his cowlick. Uncertainty filled his eyes. It was like a punch to the gut. Matthew longed to erase it. He’d never get used to that look in those normally so over-confident eyes. He settled for trying to smooth down his brothers hair. It proved to be just as stubborn as everything else. “I’m not gonna just send you home, not alone at least. Not unless you want to go.” 

Alfred frowned. “I’m not gonna have you babysit me Matt.”

“So I won’t. You’re a grown nation. That doesn’t mean we can’t keep each other company. I wasn’t lying before. It can get kind of lonely up here, even with Kumakichi.”

Alfred, rubbed the fabric of the pillowcase between his fingers, in thought, then looked back up at him. “I’ll drive you crazy, you know.” 

“Probably.” Matthew shrugged. “But I think I can deal with a little crazy.” 

“I’ll remind you of that next time you give me the _look_.”

“What look?” 

“The look,” Alfred said with raised eyebrows. “The ‘I don’t know what in the world he’s thinking and how in the world are we related’ look.”

“Oh, that look.” 

“Mm-hm,” Alfred nodded, sagely. 

Matthew started to roll over onto his back, but something was still tugging at him. “What else are you worried about?” 

“Who says there’s anything I’m-" 

Matthew reached out and poked Alfred’s forehead. “Twin thing I guess.” 

Alfred’s mouth quirked up, just a little. Matthew smiled back. 

And then Arthur’s voice floated up from downstairs and Alfred winced.

Oh. Yeah. Matthew looked past his brother, towards the hallway. “You know that doesn’t change anything. Just because someone else starting the ball rolling… it doesn’t mean Arthur’s going to stop the ball.” 

Alfred just shrugged. 

He wanted to say more. Wanted to smile and tell Alfred he was being silly, but there was a small part of him that was admittedly worrying about the same thing. Arthur was proud, and stubborn, and he wasn’t certain how someone else getting involved was going to affect… well, everything. 

He shuffled a little closer to his brother, rested his forehead against Alfred’s for a moment. 

A few minutes later they heard the sound of footsteps up the stairs. Matthew glanced over towards the door as Arthur poked his head around the doorway. 

“You okay boys?” 

And that tone made a little of the tension melt. Matthew found himself breathing easier. He nodded with a smile, and then glanced over at Alfred, who’d closed his eyes. He looked back over to Arthur and jerked his head towards his twin. 

Arthur stepped into the room, his arms crossed. “Italy wants you on the phone in a few minutes by the way,” he said, with a smile. “Was curious about how everything with you two ended up.” 

Alfred made a face. 

Matthew felt somewhat the same way. Since that morning things had started to come back in more detail. But he wasn’t sure how much he really wanted to talk about it at this point. Wasn’t sure exactly sure how much he wanted to say… or actively remember, about those last moments. 

“Somehow,” Arthur said, walking around the bed, “I thought you’d feel that way. I didn’t say anything. Thought I’d let you two figure out what to tell him.” 

Matthew scooted up on the bed a little, and let Arthur sit down beside them. 

“I haven’t spoken to Finland yet. I’m sure he’s going to be out cold for the next bit… especially with the amount of magic he had to have used on all of that.” Arthur shook his head. “My brothers are coming over, if that’s alright Matthew. Thought we’d let a few magic users who haven’t been affected by this whole thing give us a look over. Just to make sure there aren’t any lingering effects.” 

Matthew nodded, eyes widening somewhat. That was… 

“Don’t worry about playing host Matthew,” Arthur said. “I’ll put them up in a hotel, or they can sleep on the floor if need be.” Then he turned his gaze towards Alfred. “Think you can handle a bit more family, lad?” he asked, resting his hand on Alfred’s head. “Start the New Years off with a real bang?”

Alfred opened his eyes, and looked up at him with uncertainty.

Matthew looked over at Arthur as well, a similar unasked question dancing dangerously close to the surface. 

Arthur pressed his lips together. “Just because there was magic involved… that doesn’t invalidate anything. Is that what you’re both concerned about?” He didn’t wait for a response, continuing on, “Yes, I was…am…angry, but that doesn’t take anything from what we’ve spoken about. Understand?” 

Matthew nodded, and then Alfred, he noticed with a feeling of relief. 

“Good,” Arthur said, “Now, if you want to make sure Francis doesn’t take over the kitchen again you might want to put a stop to it. I saw him eyeing the ham just a few moments ago.” 

Alfred’s eyes shot open. 

“Arthur,” Francis cried from the hallway. “You are being a tattle-tale.” 

“Then stay away from our ingredients,” Alfred yelled, sitting up. “You’re getting green been casserole for Christmas dinner and you’re gonna like it.”

“Do not threaten us so,” Francis said, pouting in the doorway. “It is cruel. Shame on you, Arthur for doing who knows what to their palates.” 

Alfred laughed as Arthur strode towards Francis, an insult already on his lips. Matthew couldn’t help but join him, feeling the unease from earlier melt away as he felt his brother shake with laughter. 

* * *

The sky was overcast, blocking the cool light of the winter sun. Alfred could see the gray clouds hanging low and the stark white of snow. It was falling again, as was the temperature. 

He could feel the temperature dipping in his own lands as well. He rubbed his hands, the tips of his fingers, as snow fell across the northeast and the Rockies and cold wind blew across his plains. 

Winter continued on, threatening to pull him along with it. Through the window he could see the darkness creeping onwards, even through the day’s weak light.

But in the window he could also see a reflection, the movement matching the warm laughter just behind him. Kyle had gotten out a deck of cards and was playing something, loudly, with Francis and Arthur. Charles was sitting with Kuma on his lap, petting the fur behind his ears. 

Matthew walked over towards him and picked up some pecan halves, helping to arrange them on the top of the pie and sneaking a few, every so often. 

Warmth, and light, and laughter.

Christmas, he thought, smiling. And not someone else’s this time.

His. 

Theirs.

He knew winter was still in front of him, past the warm glow of Christmas. But he knew he wasn’t alone either. 

And that made the difference.


End file.
